In the Beginning
by Sioned136
Summary: So who is good again? The heroes are now scattered and meet up with some new problems.
1. Ancient Hope

A. N. wow I actually thought people would get pissed off at me for asking that stuff. Thanks for all those who wrote in, sucking up and pure honesty I appreciated. The last question was have you ever read any of my stories, the reason for that was yes I wanted more reviews on old stories, but also because if you have then you would know I make little introductory crap chapters that don't pertain to the story a whole lot. This is kinda like that, but hopefully it will draw you in for more, if not oh well. Here goes.  
  
  
  
Xavier wheeled up to the barred windows of their cramped command center located near the isolated community of Garsburg, and looked out at the angry storm. The storm caused drops of rain to splatter on the pane of glass, obscuring his view of the hidden driveway. Thunder shook the walls, and lighting lit up the foreboding forest overlooking his new home. Xavier pressed his hands to his temples, searching for his late guest. His brown eyes opened on the exact instant the thunder crashed and lightning blinded in the night's sky. "Professor, you should get to bed, it's late."  
  
"Sorry Scott, but that I can not do." His voice was steady and even toned while he continued his vigilance by the cold depressing window to the outside world. The boy sighed, no that's no right, the man sighed, these past months forced Scott to give up his adolescent care free days of his youth only to be bequeathed the hardships of leading a hopeless cause. A touch of gray was already peeping through his brown locks. Scott looked back at his mentor, the man was driven, but to what end, Scott wasn't sure. "Ever since," he couldn't continue his last thought; the pain was still fresh in his heart. Scott lowered his head in dismissal, and quietly left the dark room. Xavier still looked out, watching as the raindrops fell from the skies, unlike his unshed tears.  
  
His carrier was already two hours late. Xavier's mind raced with all the possibilities for such tardiness, all of them discomforting. This was Xavier's last hope, his last gain in this futile grasp for hope. He had not dared for such good news since their last battle. But look where that got him, look where that got the members of his family who were shoved beneath the lifeless dirt in his cowardly defeat. He clenched his fists in anger, in pure hatred at the circumstances, at himself.  
  
A coded knock sounded on the weather beaten plywood that they used for a door.  
  
As fast as he could, Xavier rolled to the door. He finished opening it up as the figure crashed to the floor in sheer exhaustion. Carrying the body in, Xavier noted numerous cuts and welts covering the man's body. A single lamenting moan broke through from the man's dry lips. Others finally came into the hallway and helped Charles with the bruised body. "Careful, easy does it," commanded Xavier as he issued them into a dry room. Jean and Beast began to strip the man from his sodden clothes and to apply bandages to the open wounds. The man gasped from the pain of their ministrations. He reached out to the proffesor, "Here…" The man's other hand reached into a bag that he had secured to his beaten flesh. "Ran into … some problems…. Hope this hel…." With the last word still not completed, the man drifted off into a welcoming death.  
  
Silently Jean placed a fresh bed sheet over the man's bloody face. Xavier, on the other hand, was greedily running his fingers over the parcel that the dead man gestured to. An evil grin contorted his features, and his eyes gleamed with newfound excitement. Hastily he unwrapped the precious cargo, the man had sacrificed his life for this, this piece of earth that lay in the ageful hands of the professor. Three stone tablets, written in a confusing jumble of Greek, Latin, and Chinese symbols covered the rock's hard face. Xavier ran his fingers over the grooves and notches of the ancient text. The evil gleam came back to his usually calm features.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Huge spectacles covered the beast's face, as he poured over the texts. Xavier tapped his fingers nervously, watching and waiting for the translation. He knew that it would be written in a forgotten ancient lettering, he did not however believe that it would be written in three. It was not like the Rosetta Stone with the same paragraph written in three different tongues, this one was written in the three languages intermingled with each other. Every other word, the author would switch to a different language, thoroughly confusing the reader with its twists and turns and complexities. Xavier respected the author's need for secrecy, but he wanted to know the answer to his problem now. Every minute they spent trying to decipher the ageless texts, the more innocent mutants fell before His unforgiving hand.  
  
The texts were the clue they needed to rid the world of this menace, the key to His demise. Thousands of years ago, the author and her people defeated the monstrosity that plagued him, true they did not kill Him, but they stopped Him. The defeated His plans, something Xavier, nor his X-Men have been able to do every time they fought. Thirteen mutants stopped Him from taking over the world, somehow weakened Him enough to stop the havoc that plagued everyone years later.  
  
"Professor, I have the first paragraph translated, do you wish to hear it?" Hank's voice broke Xavier's mental discussion with himself.  
  
"Years have gone by, and still my consciousness harasses me of a deed I committed long ago in my fool hardy youth." Read Beast. "Hmm, are you sure this is what you wanted, Professor. The author seems to be regretting getting rid of Apoc."  
  
"Don't say his name!" screamed the professor, "since the man is dead, you know He knows that we have His undoing." Confusingly he screeched. Spittle fell from his lips and his eyes became wild. Calming himself down he added, "Sorry, Hank. I want this so bad. Just continue. Please." Xavier quickly regretted screaming at his friend of so many years. Times were hard as they were; he didn't need to fight with friends to add to the troubles. Especially those who knew how to read the ancient text. Charles didn't want to think if years of searching and countless deaths that were given into rescuing these slabs were in vain; he wanted to believe in this last hope. They had to be right, they have to tell him the answer. The enigma that plagued him and others for so long had to have the answer. Many have given their lives for this, many of his X-men; they couldn't have died in vain. This has to hold the answer, it has to, it has to.  
  
"I can still remember them all, from the observant Elana to the chaotic Norse shape-changer Brynhild. From the optimistic Atlantian Nevat to the serious Xien Tsu. The Celts battle frenzied Alister and the melodious Bevin. The earth demons, Rakakeem and Kwanio. The opposites, venomous Nefertit and the tranquil Suminto Shinrei. The Babylonian prince Kazan Rishka of Kismet Isles and the Greek slave girl Evanglina. And of course, myself the ill-fated Desdemona. We, the few, the stupid and arrogant, the firsts."  
  
  
  
A.N. Well, this is it the beginning of "In The Beginning". To all those who submitted a character and didn't get in, I'm sorry. So many people and ideas, and so little brains in how to include them all. They were all good, but the chosen ones, I felt added to the story and fit together. I encourage you all to read on, because, well because I want the reviews, hehe. But it's your choice. I hope you did enjoy this chapter so far. Also here are the characters' bio at this time, just so you know who you'll be seeing in later chapters. Thanks.  
  
*^_^*  
  
  
  
Ellie submitted  
  
Desdemona: She is Greek with gray eyes and long slightly curled auburn hair. She is 18. Her code-name is Plague because she can kill anything, save humans or big critters, those she just stuns or cause them to get really sick or become unconscious.  
  
Miss Novelist submitted  
  
Evangelina, Lina for short. She is Greek also. She is skinny with deep green eyes, and long light brown hair. She is 20. Her power is the ability to create energy bombs that are in the shape of arrows; size depends on her need. She also has good accuracy with the smaller arrows; bigger ones don't really need great accuracy, just to be pointed in the right direction. Code name Artemis  
  
Rascal submitted  
  
Lord Kazan Rishka, Zan for short. He is Babylonian. He has a muscular body that is golden bronzed with dark brown eyes and long curly black hair. He is 24. His power is the gift of fire; he can create firebombs, and flash floods. Where he can make the fire just pour out of hands to spread everywhere in a ten foot radius, which is why he is code named Pompeii, no just kidding Rascal, Inferno is his true code name. Also can cause his favorite curved sword to become flamed.  
  
A.N I feel as if I'm presenting contestants for the Miss America contest. Our next lady is Miss China  
  
Realm submitted  
  
Suminota Shirrei, Irrei for short. She is Chinese. She is 16. Her body is slim, with a black eyes, and silky ebony hair. Also she is the shortest member on the team. Her power is the ability to calm a person. She can make them feel happy and serene, also can take away happiness through her limited psychic powers. Her code name is Heisei. I don't understand that code name, but that's the cool part of it, so Realm if you could explain, it would be helpful. But everybody calls her Serenity as a pet name.  
  
Ace submitted, numerous of times, lol.  
  
Nefertit Acean. She is an Egyptian at the age of 22. Surprisingly, she is bony with unheard of blue eyes, with the regular black hair. Her power is that of illusion that emits poison, mostly on the forms of snakes. Also she spit and kisses venom into her victims. Her code name is guess what, much time was spent on this one, Venom! (Love you Ace)  
  
And I submitted Kanwyio, (watch I spell his name wrong.)  
  
Kanwyio. He is Egyptian at the age of 24. He is a big guy, muscular with a big potbelly. He has brown eyes, with shaggy brown hair. His power is over the ground; he can make fissures or gaping cracks. Also can make platforms or stairs out of the ground too. His name is Tectonic. True in their times they probably didn't know about plates tectonics, but I needed a cool name, so there.  
  
Flipside submitted  
  
Rakakeem. Or Raka for short. He is a Zulu. He is at the age of 16, with the perks of that age, a.k.a. tall lean and athletic body, that can bend over without back problems. He has intense brown eyes with short brown hair that is shorn on one side. He has the power over rock manipulation. He can create earthquakes like Lance. His code name is Terramover.  
  
Risa submitted (what's with all the R pen names?)  
  
Bevin Madadgon. She is a fabulous Celt who is 18. She has bright blue eyes and a short boy hairstyle for her blond hair. She has the power of sound, singing is her medium. She can lure people off to dream land or off a cliff. Plus with her pipes she can break glass. Her code name is a Greek, cough, hmm, name Siren. (I prefer Banshee, but that's been done before by Sean Cassidy, gotta love him, besides this fits better.)  
  
Maxwell Dark submitted  
  
Allister. He is also a Celt, in the truest meaning of the word. He has a muscular bod covered in some Celtic tattoos, also has pale green eyes, and long braided red brown hair. Many little braids with the rest down. Normally has the Scottish wolf hound Angus along with him. Wolfhounds are big dogs, biiiggg dogs. His power is a lot like Wolverines. He has super strength, great stamina, and rock hard arms, literally. So strong he can lift boulders. Code-named Berserker. Yes its been done but its better than Battle Furrier. Age 19  
  
Sicay submitted  
  
Xien Tsu. I don't know whats the first name, if it goes by the Chinese way by taking the second name as the person's name not the first as the family's or if Sicay wanted Xien for the man's name, not his family's, so Sicay could you clarify, please. Same with Realm for hers. But back to Xien. He is a 27-year-old China man. He has dark brown almost black eyes, and dark black hair that has been shorn from the usual single long braid. His mutation gives him the power of touchable fire. In other words, anything he touches can melt or just get warmer, depending on how long he holds on. Also is dabbing in healing arts.  
  
His code name is Pai.  
  
X-Moonchick submitted  
  
Nevat. He is our only Atlantian. He is at the age of 20. He has dark blue eyes, with gorgeous short curly brown hair. His power is the control of water. He can create water jets, and bombs. When close enough to water can make water cyclones. His code name is Hydro.  
  
Omni submitted, and I thank her dearly for doing do  
  
Brynhild. She is our Norse female. She is 24 with dark blue eyes, and dark red hair, not bright blood red, but dark almost black red hair, that's long, thick and straight, but almost always in a thick braid. Her power is shapeshifting. She is really good at animals, has a little problem with people, and cannot hold them as long. She is normally seen with a brown red horse that she named Son. Her code name is rightly named Loki. Note to Omni, I luv mythology!!! Norse mythology is my fav of any kind; so yes I did see the resemblance. Do you want a son named Fenrir or a daughter named Hel? J/k. Good pick!!  
  
And last but not least is my all time favorite from Black Ice  
  
Elana. She is 19,and a Jewish female. She is muscular and tanned, with dark skin and white blond hair. Very cool eyes that are black with a white pupil. Her power is he control over someone's eyes. When she has this control, she can look out of their eyes, making the person temporally blinded. Also she can make anybody she wants a little disoriented, by changing their normal vision, by flipping the colors around, i.e., when something is blue, they will see it as orange. Her code name is Scrutiny. (Favoritism, whats that?)  
  
To all the authors I just named. Sorry if I spelled anything wrong, I wrote the names down, but couldn't read my handwriting later.  
  
  
  
Well that's them. Because all these people wouldn't even be able to speak the same language, I decided to play god. So using the magical thing I like to call Author's powers, they will all speak the universal English Language, which hasn't been invented yet, also without accents. Now that I have written over 2,000 words that don't mean a thing to my story, I'm calling it for the night. Good night, Good luck, and good reviewing. 


	2. Gathering of mutants

Disclaimer: I don't own x-men or the previously mentioned characters save for my own.  
  
A.N. Thanks Sorciere  
  
A.N. This is gonna be really difficult but bear with me. For the understanding aspect of this fic, Desdemona will introduce us to the story. Then her voice will fade away, and we will be back in that day and age, i.e. around 500 BC, with me so far? But, Xavier will also be reading this, so he'll interrupt every now and then. Hopefully you'll understand better then I can explain it. Here goes nothin'.  
  
  
  
"The day and age, was that of discovery. Modern thinkers were discovering the uses of columns and the importance of democracy. Ingenious philosophers were debating how man should live. Olympians gathered to test their strength and endurance levels. The secretive meetings of Pthyagrous were being held on the importance of the right triangle.  
  
And mutants?  
  
We were discovering ourselves, and the struggles we would soon have to face.  
  
I myself, remember my first encounter with Him, En Sabah Nur. Its funny really, I KNEW what He was, and yet, I wanted to be like that."  
  
* * *  
  
The sun was high in the noon day sky, beating its warmth on the backs of villagers as they looked up from their work to stare at the long procession. She peeked her head out from behind the light silk that blocked the outside from her. The men who were carrying her litter sweated in the sun, while her brother's chariot rushed on ahead. Her gray eyes filled with the sights of the commoners bending over backward, tilling the clay soil of the Greek peninsula. But as soon as they drank their fill, her eyes grew bored once more. Nothing new to look at, nothing thrilling to be felt. Only the journey's conclusion provided some excitement to her droll life.  
  
Lately, her brother kept her in a large room. A prison filled with treasures of the outside world, anything she wanted. Jewels, silk, exotic animals from the south, the fortune her heart had always dreamed for.  
  
Yet it was still a prison.  
  
No fresh air, no sun to caress her cheek, the simple joys that any peasant could get. She often wished Zeus would find her, and transform himself so that they could escape her brother's palace. Anything would be better then the life she now led; even Hera's wrath would be preferable. But she was glad for this trip to Delphi and the oracle. Pythia was said to be able to commune with the sun god himself. The god of truth would surely know what to do with her and her new talents.  
  
  
  
The royal siblings led an ox up the sacred way. Desdemona prayed to the dumb creature to shake its head of the water she spilled on it. For if it did, it was saying that it was glad to be sacrificed to Apollo. If not, they would have to return home, without any questions asked or answered. And she would be replaced into her stone tomb for another year. The ox looked at Desdemona for a second, the water dripping down its mangy brown head. Its great brown eyes stared off, while she was clutching her fingers, begging the creature to shake. With a massive shudder, water droplets went flying everywhere, like the mist of a waterfall it sprayed all those who came too close.  
  
The elderly priest came. His voice intoned the sacred words, preparing the ox for the sacrificial ceremony. With a sharp sickle, the priest yanked the brown head towards the golden chariot above, and sliced open the thick throat. Blood streamed down the brown skin into a waiting earthen bowl below. After the bowl had filled with the dead creature's life force, the priest splashed it all over the decorated alter. After the sacrifice had been seen too, Desdemona and her brother were led into the room where Pythia waited.  
  
A single priest guided them through a micro labyrinth, that's conclusion led the weary travelers the greatest treasure of all, Pythia's wisdom.  
  
The priest, who preformed the sacrifice, granted them entrance, his elderly frame bowing to the Lord and Lady. The room was dark with few flames dancing on their wicks. It had a low ceiling that brushed the top of Desdemona's brother's covered head. They breathed in sweet incense that tickled their pleasure senses. The priestess named Pythia was sitting regally on a golden tripod. She was young, yet held herself with a great dignity that was due to her position. Surprisingly, she was not alone, for behind her in the shadows stood a priest. This one was different from the others, instead of bowing humbly to the royalty; he stood erect, with his eyes gleaming hungrily in the firelight. The Pythia invoked fear into Desdemona's breast, but remembering her training as a dignified upper-class patrician, she stifled her qualms. Her brother's strong voice broke the silence.  
  
"Oh great Oracle, we come to seek Apollo's immortal wisdom. My sister has many gifts, but I am unsure of how to use them. Guide me, what should I do with her mysterious talents."  
  
He bowed at the conclusion of this, Desdemona also lowered her head to the floor, but she peeked out behind her long lashes.  
  
The Pythia started reaching for a withered leaf of laurel, the god's sacred plant. Before her frail fingers could touch the green foliage, the male firmly placed his hands on hers. The Pythia looked up at this sacrilege; her face was blocked from the companion's face. Quickly they heard an intake of breath, and the priestess started humming.  
  
The woman's humming became louder, as she went into her trance, calling upon the god of wisdom to help her divine for the mortal before her. Her eyes opened wide, as a blade was placed next to her back. A thin trickle of red blood marred her creamy back's surface, as the cold metal dug into the warm flesh.  
  
"In his immortal wisdom," she began, her arms rose adding to the theatrics of the moment. "The child's path will open before her eyes with a meeting between strangers."  
  
With that, the Pythia's arms lowered, her head dropped into her lap, and the blade eased every so little away from her scarred tissue.  
  
The siblings bowed their heads and exited out of the diviner's presence, pondering on what the god had meant. The priest removed his blade fully from her back, and strode in front of her. His deformed face looked out from behind his cotton hood.  
  
"Tsk, tsk. Leading that unfortunate mortal down the wrong path, without Apollo's guidance. Not exactly a true follower are we?"  
  
With that he brought out his blood tipped dagger, and bathed it in fresher fluid. The Pythia's head slumped to her lap for a final time  
  
  
  
Desdemona and her brother walked silently down to their people. He angrily cursing inside his head, "Hades daughter" would live with him until the chance encounter would come.  
  
But Desdemona's heart soared, soon she would leave; soon she would be treated like a goddess she knew she could be.  
  
They crossed by an open amphitheater where tragedies and comedies would be preformed for their god's approving eye. Lovingly, her gray eyes fell down to the chorus's pit. She dreamed of seeing a performance herself. Trinkets and dazzling objects were nice, but she wanted human contact, to hear the power of the emotional voice, to see the dramatics of life in tales of gallant heroes. Far-seeing Zeus knew her own past life was filled of it. With her parent's mysterious murders, to her Uncle's pled for forgiveness to her youthful brother for killing her patriarchs. Her life already was a tragedy, now she wanted the adventure for herself. Far away shores, mythical creatures, and a lover's sweet embrace… her most treasured dreams.  
  
Her brother jolted her back to reality; the sun was going below the surrounding mountains' backs. They would have to stop for the night, in the mourning; they would begin afresh their long tedious journey back home, back to her prison of stone. This was her last night of being out in the fresh air, underneath the hunted Calisto and her child Arcas. Gaining permission from her brother, Desdemona left their camp, and went back to the amphitheater; something there exhilarated her.  
  
She carefully chose her way down the steep stairs that led to the bottom. She gazed back at the temple of Apollo, and started to imagine herself performing before jubilant crowds.  
  
She bowed to her adoring crowd; she turned and lowered her head in tribute to the god's temple. She mimed drinking a goblet of the finest wine Greece had to offer, in tribute to Dionysus. Once more she lowered her head to the imaginary crowd who would hang on to her poetic words as if they couldn't survive without it.  
  
Her gray eyes looked at the worn ground, and slowly were raised to a figure. A man stood there smiling at her unease. She withdrew a little unsure why this man intimidated her so. Her eyes traveled over his body. He was huge hulking figure, with muscles bunching with his every move. Heracles, himself would be afraid of the powerful man. He sent a chill down her spine, drawing in her breath as she stared.  
  
"Come."  
  
His baritone voice shook her inside. She always believed that her brother was a strong figure who wore his power on his shoulders well. People would cringe or smile when he demonstrated his ability to rule, but this man… He invoked it, demanded it, and fully consumed ones loyalty. All she could do was lower her gaze and accept her fate.  
  
Her path was chosen, and she never once considered the faults of this decision.  
  
* * *  
  
"WHAT!!!!"  
  
Xavier's tendons stood out on his neck while his anger spared none of its fury.  
  
He couldn't believe it, this was not supposed to be. It just wasn't done, this was supposed to be the bible to all good mutants. The testament to their goals, the written proof to all that they wanted to believe. This was not the holy words he thought they were instead dribble, trash, complete and utter waste of their deaths. He rolled around in the closed off room he used as his study.  
  
Beast just sat there, looking over the texts, trying to find an answer to his commander's withering hope.  
  
Xavier kept lamenting the stupidity of his goals. His total and absolute trust in a zealot's faith for her messiah. He hung his head in grief, his fury spent.  
  
All those lives.  
  
He promised on their death cries, that he would use the texts, he swore to them. Unshed tears began to flood down his face. Tears for fallen comrades, for lost loved ones, to dear friends. He remembered each of their faces. Their goals and dreams for this existence, wasted, forgotten, unseen. Tears for each of them and then some. He held his head, grief finally unlocked from his stone heart.  
  
Beast continued his search through the runes. He scratched his head; the complexities of the biography of the ancient mutant were perplexing him. Hank looked back up at his friend. Shaking his head, he began afresh the translation of the enigmatic tale.  
  
* * *  
  
The elderly priest came in soon after the royalty past through the sacred doors of the oracle. Quickly he went back to help out with Iole, or to every one else, Pythia. He expertly left behind the tricky maze, and approached the diviner's room. He has always came to her room after she was used by Apollo to speak; it became their little ritual. Before he entered the door, he heard a male voice, "follower are we".  
  
Angrily he went through the opening; no one was to speak to Pythia until she rested. Didn't they realize how difficult it was to predict the god's meaning? His power alone could fry a mortal just by looking at him, let alone have him enter her body and speak through her voice.  
  
He grabbed his eyes in pain, a bright light flashed from the corner of the sanctioned chamber. Dazed from the flash, he looked about him, adjusting his eyes to the sudden lack of searing light. No words could explain his fright. There on the floor, lay his Iole, his precious priestess, lying on the ground while a fresh pool of blood formed around her perfect skin. Grief stricken he went to her, his feeble muscles pulled the girl into his arms, placing her head near his face.  
  
Her pale eyes were still open, looking up to him she whispered "Papa". She stretched out her arms, and placed them near his face, moving his own bloody one to cover hers.  
  
A jolt slammed into his skull, he could feel voices and thoughts ramming into to his failing conscience.  
  
Designs and powers erupted his order as he fell into a timeless abyss of chaos and thoughts foreign to his own.  
  
Faces and dreams, loves and death songs echoed in his mind. His eyes seeing places of long past, the temple, the original, and the initial premonition. Thousands of lives and thoughts, beings he knew not of before screaming their pasts into his brain. A turent of females voicing their opinions all at once.  
  
His eyes glowed with pain.  
  
He couldn't stop the memories, the tales of love and betrayal, of life and its antithesis, over and over again, with a new face, a new feature, a new pattern. He clutched his head in the agony, the sudden spasm of his nerves was far more than he could handle. Old ways were lost while new ones demanded total control. Something broke, something was built, muscles he never moved, flexed, nerve ends reformed and connected with forgotten others. Cells expanded and multiplied. Nucleuses evolved.  
  
* * *  
  
The fresh air was sprayed by a salty wave, as the ship docked. Men left their timbered planks to the rockier beach of Gaul. Some openly kissed the ground, while others came to relieve themselves in the wood close near.  
  
One other person stood on the boat, looking back across the troubled waters to an untamed land.  
  
His hair was tied in braids of his clan, and his colors flew in the breeze, but his heart was lower than Bran's on his return home. Never again to see the isle of Eire, never again to see the sloping green hills, or hear the brave tales of CuChulainn and other hero's of past. No longer will Morgan come to greet the proud warrior that leaned on the side of the trireme.  
  
A dog padded up to him, his warm muzzle brushed against the calluses of old, demanding his master's attention.  
  
"All right Angus, time to go." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he lovingly stroked his friend's ears.  
  
But still he did not move.  
  
The land was different, - it didn't smell right.  
  
The place didn't have the same air to it like his home. There, one could sense the Tuatha De Danann watching from behind the rock, or gaze in wonder as the stone circles bring mortals into their parties, or even feel the forbidden power of a ring of mushrooms. Here, nothing, no power tickled the senses, nothing at the corner of the eye that you swear you saw but when you look back its gone, no hint of something magical. This land was devoid of anything, stripped clean of the wonders of nature, abused by too many people too fast without its due payment.  
  
But alas, nothing was like his Eire; nothing in the whole world could ever match its beautiful terrors or its simple complexities. The dog whined at his side, the man look back one last time cross the foamy channel, and sighed, a long drawn out wanting sigh. With that last goodbye, he turned and stepped down the board to the new land.  
  
He had walked quite a while to the small village. His wolfhound walked ahead, smelling the roasted deer cooking from a homestead near. The house was round with its chimney in the middle, skins of deer and wild rabbit coated the walls, and heads displayed the powers of the men inside. He came closer to the peat-roofed thatch, fingering his torque along the way. The gold around his neck was all that he had as an identification of himself, it told that he was a mighty warrior who had triumphed on the battle field, his only claim to anything. As he approached the skin used as a door, he could hear singing within. Strong male voices dominated the scene, calling out to each other in a feisty drinking tale, while the men continued to soak their gullets with delectable mead. He stepped into the tent.  
  
Immediately, the warriors sprang into action, they approached the intruder and gazed at him with their swords drawn. Allister looked at the men with his pale green eyes, while they looked back with their blood shot merry drunken ones.  
  
"What's your name and business in the house of Cradawac?" a man asked, his thick blond mustache twitching with each word.  
  
"My name is Allister son of Conbar, I have come for some work and some food, for my belly is mighty hungry." With that he patted his stomach.  
  
The men smiled at that and returned to their seats.  
  
"Welcome my friend, I am Cradawac, and today is the day, my daughter was asked for. So we celebrate. Eat, drink, and be happy in her name."  
  
The older man clapped Allister on the back and led him to the cauldron of warm mead. A girl came out and tried to help him, but he shooed her off, saying that she should rest and plan for her wedding with her mother. The girl smiled meekly and left, her blond braids whipping the air as she went.  
  
"I am so fortunate. First my daughter will leave me!"  
  
His small band of gathering drunken men laughed at this, knowing full well that the big Cradawac loved his family.  
  
"Then a great druid humbles my house with his splendor and even graces us with a sacrifice," he continued in the same tone.  
  
his men looked back into the corner where a figure with a long beard sat. His eyes met Allister's briefly, but that contact was enough to make the Irishman feel chilled.  
  
The druid's face was lost in the flickering shadows, but his tell told druid shave was well visible.  
  
Allister turned and looked back at his host, from the corner of his eyes he saw a shine coming in the direction of the holy man. He felt a little relieved, that this sidhe-forsaken place did indeed posses some magic enough to have a druid…but only a little relieved.  
  
"And now I have a good kelto with the skills of an exalted warrior. I have been blessed thrice over, so I beg of you, drink, drink. And tomorrow we will have games and events!"  
  
At hearing this, the men gave a hearty cheer, for no Celt could ever give up the chance to prove himself.  
  
Allister sat down at his host's side, and began to sip the mead. Slowly he swallowed the foul drink; it was not the best of mead he has ever had. After that, he only pretended to drink the brew, and merrily enjoyed the feast provided before him.  
  
  
  
"You do not join in the games, why is that?" A voice questioned, bringing Allister out of his review.  
  
He looked about him; the skies had recently opened up and drenched the land, but now has cleared up. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the druid of yesterday.  
  
"I didn't feel that it would be wise."  
  
He turned back to see young men wrestle in knee deep muck, laughing and falling on their arses. Allister remembered the last contest he went into. In every match he had won, an inhuman feet, that gave him a couple of angry clansman to answer to. No, he couldn't even try to rig the games so he wouldn't win, he was too proud to do that. If he competed, his new found friends would not be so friendly to him later this evening.  
  
"Ah. I see. You're looking for a job, correct?"  
  
The offer surprised Allister. He turned around from the competitors, and really looked at the druid.  
  
The man was not small or hunched like the romi would like to believe druids to be, instead he was a big man. He was tall and mysterious with his flowing robes. The only distinguishable feature on him was his face. A scar went down his left eye to the right part of his chin, and his face was rather hideous even without the old wound. And the eyes, they were very dark, black almost, they seemed to draw a person in, only to leave that person trapped in their depths forever. Allister was unsure, but he needed the job.  
  
"My dog will have to come, too."  
  
* * *  
  
The man's breath cam in quick gasps as he neared his climax, the woman moaned beneath him, already at hers. Together they finished, moaning and screaming as one as pleasure swept through their entwined bodies. The man rolled off to the side, depleted and drained, he sought to catch his breath.  
  
The silk rustled on the bed, as the woman got up to leave. Now that her duty was done, her Lord would need his rest. She quickly climbed into her tossed garments and left the silken bed behind. The man just smiled, all and all, it was an enjoyable midday break. He was about to get up himself and once more retain the responsibility of his tittle, when he heard a voice hidden in the shadows of his quarters.  
  
"I have always wondered if you people do it differently."  
  
The voice was masculine and carried no thread of warmth.  
  
Kazan Rishka enjoyed performing in front of willing observers, but only when they were invited. He angrily cast aside his sheets and rose to his feet. A light began to glow in his right hand, while his eyes glowed with their own inner fire. The flame encircled his fist with a raw blaze of orange that outshone the torches on the walls. Standing before the figure with his hand in a fiery mass normally scared any being too stupid to make Zan use it, but the figure in front of him did nothing.  
  
"Is that all your royal highness can do? And here I thought royals were supposed to wield more power than any peasant. Or at least that's what your kind keep stuffing down our throats."  
  
He laughed a cold deep laugh, not really for the humor of it. He held his own hand high before the prince, and there sprouted a brighter fireball, glowing with immense white fire. The face that was hidden in the depths of dark shadows was revealed before the arrogant highborn, a cruel face that seen it's own hardships. Scar and birth deformities racked the flesh of the tanned man, while the new light reviled his flashy predator grin.  
  
Kazan was not intimidated, especially by a mere peasant.  
  
He sucked in a lung full of air, and concentrated on his power. The room began to get hot, steam was seen to come off the prince, as he bit his lip in deep focus. From his hands came a flood of power, flames licked at the air as it flowed from his palms to the peasant. But he couldn't hold it, he couldn't control the flames in an orderly fan pattern, they began to fall to the ground. The glow began to consume the heavy carpeting underfoot.  
  
Angrily he cried out, sweat reformed on his brow as he tried to put out the spreading flames. But they were moving to fast, multiplying in speeds only it can, hungrily eating away at the ground and the nearby elaborate furniture.  
  
The scarred man laughed again, as he raised his hands and suddenly brought them down once more. The flames extinguished immediately, leaving behind a smell of burnt fibers. "Come, ohh prince, I and shall teach you how to control Shamash's fire." The man extended his arm to the prince.  
  
Kazan looked at the floor; his heart grew with hatred to the peasant before him.  
  
He would not be defeated by a peasant.  
  
He looked into the cold eyes of the scarred face, and reached out to the outstretched hand.  
  
* * *  
  
The wind whipped into his face as he rode on, faster he pushed his horse. He had to hurry, had to cover the distance from the emperor's land to the border before sundown. They must not find him; they must not catch him.  
  
His heart felt low enough, yet alone having to be reminded by the guards of his folly. His own men chased him now, thirsting for his blood.  
  
Ironically, he had taught them to do just this, any traitor needed to be hunted until brought back for punishment. Years ago his own hand taught theirs how to track, how to read the footprints of the escapee, how to hunt the fugitive until he believes he was safe and today, they hunt him. He kicked his horse harder in the ribs; he would not be an easy prey.  
  
He built no fire, and tried to leave no marking of his camp as he settled down for the night. The sky was clear above, revealing the ill-fated stars above. The damned soothsayer told his majesty that the battle would be a success, and the king would have a beautiful ceremony on his return home. What the stars failed to tell was that the ceremony was the emperors own death parade.  
  
He smacked his palms together in frustration.  
  
He should of prevented it - he was there, he could have.  
  
But no, he didn't, instead he watched as the arrow passed through the boy's shoulder. The look of surprise that passed on his face, of utter motified shock, that a powerful man gets when he finally learns death comes knocking at his door too.  
  
Xien Tsu shook his head; it was not right to think of dead sprits while on their way to the afterlife.  
  
Tsu grabbed out a candle from his roughly packed travel bag, and placed his fingers on the wick, concentrating he felt the tip of the hair's grow warm, a small flame grew.  
  
"Greetings, good sir." A voice called out from the darkness.  
  
"Come closer, and don't call me good." Was Tsu feeble reply back.  
  
He didn't care who the traveler was, for if it were his own men, they would have placed an arrow between his ribs by now.  
  
"If that is how you feel."  
  
A man approached the candle diameter of light. He was tall, and not armed. Suspicion drove Xien Tsu to look closer, for no man went outside without a blade by his sides. The man was not of oriental decent. He had tan skin and flowing robes of people unknown to Tsu. The foreigner looked back at him, making his own observations.  
  
"I don't think I have ever seen a man like yourself without a braid coming down his back."  
  
"Then you have been lucky. What do you want?" he was growing annoyed with this man. He was to get up at dawn tomorrow to leave, and he didn't want to fall asleep on the horses back.  
  
"My Royal Highness needs a body guard." He started simply.  
  
He matter of factly put it. Tsu smiled, this man wasted no time getting to the heart of matters, unlike court officials. But he did not like the prospect of guarding a man, royalty or not. He could no longer trust himself. Could no longer take the responsibility for another man's life in his hands. He had the job, and he failed. He had proven dishonorable to his benefactor, and should by all means be killed for his folly, not rewarded.  
  
"By guarding the prince, you will gain back your honor, Xien Tsu."  
  
Tsu looked up at the figure in disbelief.  
  
He knew his name, as well as his own thoughts. Only demons could know such things. He laughed then. To face demons and their tricks or to face his hunters.  
  
All his life he has been told that it was a general's duty to die with his fallen lord and master. That it was an honor to ascend the afterlife and to guard his highness till the end. He even swore by his life and honor that he would do this when the time came. But he didn't. He enjoyed life too greatly to give it all up like that, to have someone pierce his heart without resistance, he couldn't do it.  
  
He was too proud when he made that vow, believing that he would never have to fulfil it, for he was just too good. That nothing bad could ever come from him watching his emperor, no arrow would get thorough, no enemy, nor spear, nor stray anything. But one did. And he couldn't go through with his vow, would not stand by to feel the killing blow. He refused, so he ran like a coward.  
  
And now a demon offered to give that all back to him. To be able to make everything right again.  
  
Why not.  
  
* * *  
  
A flash and that was all it took for the demon to transport the two of them to an unknown place.  
  
He smiled; his army was near complete. Soon, he will rid the world of its leaders, and claim it for his own. The world will know its true leader. He who actually is descended from the gods, there equal, no there better! He was the perfect choice to rule not only did he have the true power at his disposal, but he would never die - not in this century any way.  
  
He smiled again his eyes looking over his gathered mutants. The royals sat on silk discussing the way of ruling from the Greek to the Babylonian. The Kelto just cleaned his blade over and over again, rubbing it smooth of its imperfections with a pumice stone. His eyes did not see his favorite anywhere.  
  
"Plague where is Heisei?" He demanded, he brought his hands closer to Desdemona's throat. She just looked into her master's eyes.  
  
"She is feeding the dog. Who is our new friend?" her eyes looked over the oriental man standing behind the tall despot.  
  
"Allister, tell our 'friend' the news."  
  
With that he left to find his last follower.  
  
She stood in the kitchen preparing food for the flea-ridden beast. She softly hummed to herself as she did, her petite form just reaching the top of his table. She brought down some bones with meat still clinging to the marrow. The Irish (thanks Max) wolfhound's head nearly stood up to her ear, which it proceeded to lick while she brought the meal down before his waiting mouth.  
  
"Shinrei"  
  
His voice startled her. He always had that affect on her; his entire place had that effect on her. She timidly came closer to him, maintaining eye contact with the floor the complete time.  
  
"Play for me."  
  
Was all he said to her. He returned back to a separate room, filled with rock chairs and other uncomfortable items. This was his room, no one else was allowed in without his permission. Only she so far has seen the inside of the sparse quarters.  
  
She brought out a Chinese instrument from a corner. She pulled the bow back and forth its three strings producing a calming melody. She dipped herself into her powers and slowly relaxed her master to sleep.  
  
* * *  
  
"We all met En Sabah our own way, coming with him out of our own need for adventure or just to regain our lost selves. With the completion of Xien Tsu to our numbers, we were ready.  
  
But for what, our master told us not."  
  
A.N. Oh my, I think I made my fingers bleed with that one. Note to all you readers, if I ever do another chapter that long, I will just scream and get over it. Serious though, unless I find a really good reason not to, these chapters will not be as long as this one, and I mean really. Okay, well we meet the bad boys; next chapter will be the good guys who are discovered by there own little leader guy. I think I'm going to bandage my fingers now. Have fun reviewing! Oh and p.s. did you understand with the changing of Desdemona's written thought, to the story, to Xavier's time line? !!^_^!! 


	3. Tensions

Disclaimer: I don't own the x-men, why would I be here if I did?  
  
A.N. I want to thank everybody who reviewed last week's chap. I will try to live up to those expectations. But I can't take total credit, Sorcerei helped me, so hugs to her. And also to Neva for being my muse for the week, with her story "the inside story."  
  
  
  
"Ah, the power and passion Nur feed our ego. It was like a narcotic, exhilarating, fresh and addictive.  
  
Slowly we were all coming to terms with what our destines could be, but we were fools to believe that we were the only ones to be blessed so."  
  
* * *  
  
He rolled on the floor in agony, tearing about the sacred chambers. Pain shoot through his head, disturbing any ordered thoughts. Thousands of faces, and memories of past ran across his eyes. He couldn't handle it any more.  
  
He was an old man, used to spend his day in prayer, sacrifice, and even sweeping the ground.  
  
But images of ordeals, confrontations, and Apollo's abuses, was too much. Burning, agonizing, tormenting pain engulfed his system. He crawled around, searching on the ground for a way to stop. Thoughts of menstrual cycles, birth, and sex, thoughts of poison, lying, and revenge raced around with his own. He knew not of up, down, of himself or his daughter, right or wrong. Jumbled and confused he ran his fingers over anything in reach.  
  
They reached and groped along the marbled surface, hunting for anything that may help. He tried to pray to Apollo for help, but his thoughts began thousands of prayer, spoken by different voices, different words, and different requests. Muddled, confused, frenzied, his fingers whisked around. Troubled, disoriented, inextricable, chaotic. Moving over and under the tripod. Flashes, glimmers, peaks, gazes, stares. Nimbly touching the grooves and decorations, searching. Finishing, beginning, ending, completing. His fingers lay on the key, the only thing that would help, the savior, the means of escape from the images flying, floating, fleeing across his vision. Disarray, jumbled, perplexing, whirling.  
  
With as much muscle as he could spare, he thrust the blade in his eyes, over and over puncturing the cold steel in and out and again.  
  
Blood flowed freely from his massacred eyes, and still he continued. In and out, never stopping, continuing. Gorging flesh, as it dripped down the blade, soaking it in his ruined retina. Through the iris, and out the cornea, drenching the fingers that clutched the blade. Entering and leaving again and again, and again. Jelly and plasma spilled down his wrinkled cheeks, as he tried to stop the pain and chaos raging inside.  
  
But the images still came.  
  
* * *  
  
Beast shuddered at the scene coming to life from the texts. He looked over at Xavier, seeing the professor's own leap of sanity occurring. The man rocked himself back and forth, clinging to his useless legs, as tears traveled down his cheeks to his pants.  
  
All those people, all those dreams, all trusting.  
  
All destroyed.  
  
A slight chuckle built in his lungs, emerging from Charles's mouth as a full belly giggle. He through back his head, and cackled.  
  
* * *  
  
They came slower now, allowing their master to process their information. Slowly, calmly, relaxed, the images promenaded across his mind. He met the very first Pythia, relived her meeting with sun god and her transformation into the prophetic priestess. He felt each of their stories, heard their voices still echoing in his head, explaining.  
  
He remembered the ordeals each were faced with, as well as the initiation into the order. A hand was placed on the girl's temples at her predecessor's death, relinquishing the memories and powers of the dying woman.  
  
He saw each of them and all their memories, from the first to the last, his beloved Iole.  
  
He still could feel her within him, telling him she was sorry for blasting him with her talents. The others just stayed near her, helping out, and adding their own opinions to the matter at hand. Some were angry that their feminine power was granted to a male, and others argued that in order to survive they had to keep him. They all fell silent when the first came in.  
  
She was still young in the ageless expanse of memories. She was childish in her apparent innocence, but sagacious beyond her years.  
  
"You are now the Pythia. Visions will explain your own future in this rapidly changing world, use them carefully. We will be here to guide your step, listen." Her voice faded off, and he was left alone.  
  
The elderly man reviewed his daughter's last recollections of her adolescent life, fixating on the scarred man.  
  
Pythos was born.  
  
* * *  
  
The sky above was clouded, threatening to drench the servants scurrying below. They ran quickly over to shelter, carrying their bundles under their arms, in order not to ruin them from the alarming look of the skies. The masters looked out of their grand white washed houses, and stood watching the heavens, waiting for the sign of Zeus to open the skies. The children jumped excitingly out into the garden, hoping for puddles to splash in later.  
  
Lina watched the children interact with each other. They frolicked about, laughing and enjoying themselves immensely. The air was warm and promised a pleasant rain, huge puddles, and of course the break of their normal studies.  
  
In the arid land of Abydos the people were known to have holidays whenever the god of the heavens blessed them with torrential downpours. Carnivals were granted, and feasts prepared when the occasion was seen. The people were wise in to making the time splendid while it lasted, for the weather would turn dryer and eat away at their sprits as the days induced tempers to flare hotter than Helios's shining rays.  
  
She looked back at their faces, smiling to each other, excluding no one from their games of fun and wonder that would outlast even Hermes's imagination. Giggles and shrills escaped their mouths as the first drizzles fell to the quenching earth and a bright flash dazzled the spectators below.  
  
Everyone clapped for joy; faces alight with the glow and happiness, ready for the feasts to begin.  
  
Everyone save the girl.  
  
She couldn't understand it. She was young just like that. She had laughed like all the children she ever knew, talked like them, even believed in the same Minotaur would eat them if they didn't behave, like them, but they still excluded her.  
  
Still made her the social reject in their games.  
  
All her life, they had left her out, preferring to play with their parents then to mingle with her. All her life she had to watch from the sidelines, hoping for a chance when the goat bladder would role her way. All her life she had wished for one friend, just one.  
  
But when one didn't come to her, she made one or two.  
  
"Evangelina, hurry up and bring those table clothes in. Everybody is waiting."  
  
Her mother's voice broke the melancholy mood that her past normally drudged up. She looked back once more at the children holding hands as the skipped around with the raindrops. A single sigh escaped through her lips.  
  
Too belong…  
  
  
  
The rain continued its downpour on the parched earth, driving all happy crowds indoors for their warm dry beds.  
  
Evangelina finished with her duties went to the open wall used as an entrance. It was a terrible day for a servant. She had to bake constantly in a hot kitchen and usher out the mouth-watering food. Leaving only scrapes and rotten pieces that fell on the floor for herself. She was exhausted from the amount of labor she put forth today.  
  
A little surprised too, normally she shrinks off from her duties to find some more interesting activity. But not today, instead she opted for the most arduous work in order to take her mind off her troubled thoughts  
  
Wearily, she held herself up against the wall, letting the day's work melt off her shoulders, as the rain-washed down the sides of the house.  
  
She looked out to the sheets of rain pouring down, all the same, uniform drops. All dropping down in a certain pattern as the wind whipped them around and scattered them about. The wind distributed the raindrops wherever it wanted to, here, there, wherever; heedless of what obstacles they would fall into.  
  
"By Helios's flames, do I hate feast days. Everybody else gets to play out in the rain, while I have to stay in the hot kitchen heating the furnace"  
  
Lina looked over her shoulder, seeing her friend, Lorn, approach her from the kitchens.  
  
"Oh that's nothing, I had to serve the food. Do you know what it's like seeing the delicacies, smelling their enticing scents, and not get any of it? I swear, Tantalus himself has it easier than any servant here."  
  
Callope clutched her breast dramatically as she threw herself to the ground. Lina just shook her head; the server was always the maenad when it comes to her job. They were very different people, yet together they shaped Evangelina, made her into the girl before them. Kind, considerate, hot tempered, lazy, and devoted.  
  
Lorn looked over at Lina who was feeling bad about something. He and Callope shared a look between themselves.  
  
"Give it time, before you know it you will have so many friends you wouldn't know what to do with him." Callope consulted her.  
  
Lina sighed; the problem with having imaginary friends was that they always know what to say, mostly because she told them what to. With a dismissive gesture, she waved her friends out of existence.  
  
They were always there, sure, but they were her.  
  
She wanted a real friend, who didn't always know her, but wanted to get to. Someone who would think she was funny and smart, and not just some stupid servant girl. Someone who would like her. Someone she could touch, and be touched back. Someone who wouldn't run in terror when they saw her. Someone who actually stayed and asked her what she thought. She wanted someone who she couldn't control, someone who could comfort her, as well as surprise her.  
  
Anybody would do.  
  
At least somebody who could talk to her with a voice outside her head.  
  
"Excuse me, miss?"  
  
A man stood in front to of her, drenched to the bone, while the skies continued to unleash its tears.  
  
  
  
Together they rushed him over to the fire to warm his hands. Upon closer examination Lina saw that the man was in fact very old. His long gray hair was in a mangy clump dripping down his wrinkled skin, where his upper part of his head should have been, was a cloth wrapped securely around and around, hiding his eyes and forehead from her view.  
  
"I saw you."  
  
This puzzled Lina, but she just took it to mean that he saw her in the doorway, and that's why he came over. But the cloth should have dampened his eyesight till he couldn't see a thing. How could he claim to have seen her? She looked back at him, as she continued to feed the hungry flames.  
  
He kept jerking his head about, moving it slight degrees. His fiddled with his hands and fingers, grasping at imaginary flecks in the air, but they kept returning to his covered eyes. His fingers were gnarled and bent with age, and very dirty. As were all his clothes. They seemed to reek of poverty, showing signs of heavy wear, dirty brown and darker shades covered the cloth, as well as the stench the emitted every time the cloth moved. Shuddering she started to back away.  
  
"Uh huh, I'm ahh, I'm gonna get you something to eat."  
  
She was going to go bring some others to help out, but he grabbed at her hand, forcing her to stay with him.  
  
"No, no, I SAW you, I saw you."  
  
She was starting to get freaked; this man was in desperate need of some of Apollo's healing touch.  
  
She decided to take matters unto her own hands. Inside she dipped into the well within, bringing forth the power that would be needed to get free. Her hands started getting hot, with the pulsating white energy.  
  
But before she could form the arrow that would release her hand from his clammy grip, he crooked his head to one side, and stopped. His breathing slowed, and his fingers stopped their travels, content on keeping her hand within his with a strong grip.  
  
* * *  
  
Amidst the yells and veering crude hand signals, Pythos saw the eldest make her way to the front. Her face loss its impassive holier-than-thou look, for a more angered one.  
  
"Fool, you are scaring the child!"  
  
Her voice intimidated him, he tried to cruel himself up away from her voice, but he stopped himself.  
  
He was the man here; he was the one who was alive. He was the one who they needed, the most powerful Pythia.  
  
He was the only male Pythia in existence in the female cult. And being so, he was transformed beyond any of their dreams. The power of Apollo flowed through his veins now, and brought with it, something no woman should ever have.  
  
He was the one in control, and if it pleased him, he could make her disappear permanently.  
  
And she knew this, too. Quickly she mended her past remarks to a more complacent, advisory tone.  
  
"You need the girl to feel comfortable, to feel at ease with your news. The more she feels comfortable, the more likely she will follow you on your journey."  
  
Pythos heard the wisdom in this, and nodded.  
  
* * *  
  
"I'm sorry if I frightened you earlier."  
  
Now Lina was officially confused. The voice that spoke 'I saw you' was a creepy old man's who a couple grapes short of a good wine. The voice that spoke to her was kind, and fatherly, much like that one of a priest, not a raving lunatic.  
  
Not only the voice changed, but the man's entire disposition. He sat straighter in his chair, and released her wrist from his bronze grip. The worn tunic did not seem so grungy now, but rather a sacred cloth that happened to get splashed with mud.  
  
"I had to be sure, you were the one I was looking for." his timber voice began.  
  
Something jumped within Evangelina; somebody was looking for her? She was needed by somebody who didn't require a clean spoon?  
  
"You see, I need help…"  
  
Of course, it was too good to be true. Most likely the man will need instructions to her master's room or other trivial nonsense that any dull servant could give him, she thought bitterly to her self.  
  
She began to get up, and here she could have spent another few minuets watching the rain fall, talking with herself, instead she had to awake her master, and suffer his punishment later.  
  
"I have been instructed by Apollo himself to find stray godlings"  
  
Godlings? She played the dumb servant look.  
  
Mentally she cursed herself; she had started to use the arrows when he gripped her hand. Her mother had taught her never to reveal her talents to anyone, only if her life was in danger. And now she had this man hunting for godlings sent by Apollo to find.  
  
"The Lord of the Golden Bow has commanded me to find you, and to beg that you join in our cause and fight a cruel mortal, one who needs punishment for his hubris. Please, he saw you from above, and instructed me to ask you first."  
  
The old man was in his knees before the serving girl, begging her to help him. Even without his eyes, she could tell he needed her, through his body language, and for the fact that he was facing her. Most masters yell it over their shoulder, for looking into the eyes of a servant was never an option.  
  
She has never been faced like that before.  
  
Never in her entire life, had anyone practically beg her for something.  
  
"He is just going to use you, he will probably have your head on an altar before the night is out, and you're just going to give it to him?"  
  
Lorn scorned her for such thoughts. He angrily tried to get her to use some common sense, while Callope was trying in a different way.  
  
"No one has ever faced you like that before. He needs you, wants to actually talk to you. Who is going to do that here, us?"  
  
"What do you know of that guy? He walked in here as a dumb as a drunken satyr, and you are just going to follow him wherever he asks because he is human towards you? What happens if he lead you off a cliff to the Aegean Sea, would you drown if he asked you?"  
  
"This is the first guy who ever gave you a second glance, let alone has spoken to you before. And besides he said godlings, god lings! He think you are a demi-god worthy of tribute and respect, not a dirty dishrag and yesterdays scraps. He will also lead you to others, think of it, others just like you, who have talents that should be used, not squandered behind flour paste."  
  
"Lies, charlatan" "Chances, follower" "Lead you to your 'deathtrap', 'new friends" "how can you not 'accept', 'have any brains"  
  
"Quiet it!!!!" Evangelina of Abydos screamed.  
  
The old man was taken aback, this entire time he has been on his knees, waiting for her reply. Now she was accusing him of speaking the whole time.  
  
She would be the test sent by the deathless gods, if she was accepted then they approved, if she did not…  
  
He didn't know what would happen if she didn't accept. She had to. He knew from the first time he saw her in the vision that she was the one, the truest, the only one. The child of the virgin Artemis, mistress of the hunt, armed with the silver tipped arrows and cunning stealth.  
  
She moved her hands to her temple, slowly massaging the skin on top.  
  
Real friends?  
  
"Who else do you have to find?"  
  
* * *  
  
"Very well handled, I have to give you that."  
  
Pythos just smiled as the women continued to bless his latest test. They were right to give it to him, for now even Apollo's sister agreed with his cause to destroy the scarred man.  
  
He let their praises fall on him like flower petals, appreciating the warmth and silkiness of the lies he was feed. Oh yes, he did know that most hated him, but he also knew something they didn't. He knew how to use the visions to the fullest.  
  
From first sight, to later developments. He knew how to predict the future as well as create it himself.  
  
It felt good to be powerful  
  
And they couldn't do a thing about it  
  
All they could do was sit and watch and pout within. Especially because not only did Apollo grant him with the truth, but the means to get it.  
  
The male ability to take action was always oblivious to a woman, who's only service was to pass on information. The men would take that information and use it.  
  
And he intended to use it, from the divination to the teleportation.  
  
* * *  
  
She knelt before the altar of the statued god, touching her hands to her breast, begging forgiveness for her sacrilegious crimes. The statue's eyes were stiff and formal requesting more from the girl before it, the ultimate sacrifice. Her hands trembled as she lifted them to her throat.  
  
Blood appeases the bloodless ones.  
  
The druids have always told their people those words. They have always told the people the only ways to appease their awesome wrath was to appeal to their natures. If you disturbed Lugh, one must go without fire until his feast day, and then build a huge bonfire to sacrifice two oxen. For Morrigan one had to sacrifice ten enemies to her bird, the crow, on the battlefield and three stags. If one angers Manannan the sea lord, then one had to accommodate his needs with seven horses and three ships full of treasure of the sacred gold of the surface.  
  
But for the Bard?  
  
She had already lost her sense of hearing. No longer allowed listening to the sweet melodious voices of birds, or the gurgles of streams flowing. Or even the calming tones of a loved one. To go without a sense of hearing for a perspiring bard there was nothing crueler. The sacrifice of her hearing was a powerful punishment, wouldn't that appease the dauntless god?  
  
But no, that was not enough for the problems she contrived with her voice.  
  
Her own suffering is nothing compared to what her innocent cousin is going through. He did not open his mouth, he did not wish to anger her parents. He had not angered anyone, had not been evil, or wicked. Her cousin was the perfect child, why had he been castigated? He had just been there, and now he pays for it with his own hearing.  
  
All because of her.  
  
She looked back at the lidless god of song, tears streaming down her face. She had never meant to do this. Never meant to take away a youth's only connection to the outside world. She could handle the problems she caused, but for him to suffer needlessly too? That was too much for her to bear alone, she had to beg forgiveness the only way she knew how.  
  
She must appease the god for her hubris, and beg him to forgive her faultless kin. With that in mind, she raised the blade to her throat, ready to give all for the immortal singer.  
  
"Bevin!"  
  
"No!!!" he called hopelessly  
  
Her uncle raced into her drab cell, catching her arm in his vise like grip, moving her hand away from her thinly covered neck with his thickly corded arm. He would not let her raise the blade, would not allow her to take her own life in self-pity and shame.  
  
But she would not stray from her path, she had to complete the sacrifice, had to make things right again for all those who suffered from her mindless err.  
  
They wrestled with the blade, each trying to succeed. He tried stopping her from making a bigger mistake, using his weight and strength as a weapon. But she used sheer stubbornness and determination as hers. They grabbled on the cold stone floor, twisting and turning in the ever pursuit to end the problem.  
  
  
  
Bevin looked out of her window, hating herself for failing, but at the same time understanding why her uncle had prolonged her life. He wanted her to suffer longer, for journeying to the Otherworld is surely an award, not a punishment.  
  
Even though she couldn't end her life, she did take the one thing sacred to a Celtic female-her hair. In her vain attempt to plunge the knife into her most cherished voice, he hampered her arm and forced it to cut her pale hair instead. In fact that was what ended her fight. She was too much in shock over her lose of follicles that she didn't even block when he knocked the side of her face.  
  
She now had made a sacrifice to the Eternal Poet, it had only cost her dignity as well as her blond locks.  
  
But it was for the best. Now Bevin could return to her solitary life, and continue her ever present devotion to Him, and not cause anyone else needless harm.  
  
But the Celtic gods are fickle, and bored.  
  
  
  
The candle in his hand silhouetted her uncle's form. He looked at her, tears coming down his pale cheeks, he hadn't meant to chain her form up, but he didn't want her to kill herself any time soon. She was his only hope in the future. He cared greatly for her, she his only daughter, though she didn't know of it.  
  
He used to be happy pretending she was his niece, his brother watching over her while he got his life straightened. He couldn't raise the child when his only love died giving birth to her, not that soon. And by the time the child was ready, she had already grown used to calling him Uncle, and his brother Dad. Plus she was happy there, always having fun with her riches and "brothers" always singing and being happy.  
  
But lately, her ever-present smile has dwindled into a scowl, ruining the carefree child she used to be. No longer do smiles grace her lips, or songs roll of her tongue. Only a continued silence, and a self-hatred can be felt encasing his daughter, and for that he wept.  
  
"She won't talk to you, she hasn't talked to anyone since the accident. But you have my blessing if you get her to smile. Only then do you have my blessing."  
  
With that being said, the dutiful guardian left, leaving an old man and his supposed daughter alone in the dismal cell with the deaf girl.  
  
She saw them come into her chamber, but she didn't let her gaze stay, instead choosing to ignore them and stare at the fascinating stone patterns behind them. The old man to his credit didn't try to talk to her, just stood there pondering how to approach the sullen prisoner.  
  
But the girl in his company started fidgeting, not being able to stay in one place, while he stood in quite contemplation. Instead she opted to look around the room.  
  
It was a very sparse room, filled with very little. An old table was hastily placed in one corner, while a dirt worm filled mat lay on the stone floor as a means for a bed. The room was also filled with a ropes attached to chains and to the girl. Other than that, a single window opened the stone prison to the fresh air behind it, but the stones still cast a dreary shade over the entire room.  
  
Pythos stood there, cocking his head to he side, listening to the voices inside and their ageless wisdom. But Lina never could stand still when others were there, normally preferring to find closed quarters where she could breathe by herself, but this was different. This girl before her would soon be her teammate, a person she would have to interact with for as long as they were together.  
  
Lina wanted to get to know her better, see if they had anything in common. But she didn't come right out and introduce herself, it was against her nature to make the first move, besides than man had warned them that the blond girl couldn't hear.  
  
The girl herself continued her look of non-chalont and stared at the rocks instead of her visitors. Bevin couldn't stand it. She couldn't understand why they were there, more out of pity or curiosity then good intentions. Or perhaps they were a druid and his assistant. In either case she didn't wasn't them to see her, in her shame and disgrace. Didn't want them to see her humiliating shorn hair, nor herself chained to a wall like a common thief in her own kin's home. She had her dignity to uphold.  
  
She stopped her thoughts, this pride in herself was what caused her to be punished so. This was merely another test sent by the gods to force her to realize and accepts penitence as her future. She would have to live in her shame like the petty thief or wrongdoer that she was. She would have to repent, and become the good child who worshipped daily and sought nothing for herself even though her heart might bleed for more. This was her destiny, to live in degradation, and to have no peace until she died of old life.  
  
Lina met the girl's eyes as she went though herself reproach, seeing the deep intense suffering she dished out to herself. She recognized most of the emotions running across the chained Celt's face, for she too has just recently felt them herself. Self-loathing, hatred, anger, imploration, grief, penitence, and finally passiveness. Lina did the first thing she could think off, going closer she hugged the poor girls anguishing body. Hugged her tightly, giving her own strength to the Celt, as she recalled her own pitiful life.  
  
  
  
Bevin couldn't believe it, instead of the pitying factor she thought the girl would play, the girl instead opted for a hug. A simple gesture that held so much, love and understanding, and recognition, and acceptance. For she never received those things from her family, not once, not even when she went into her dark little abyss of no return. Not even her uncle had dared to give her a touch of love, which the stranger now openly shared.  
  
Surprisingly she felt her eyes water, and a single tear flow down her smooth cheek.  
  
Pythos recovered from his inner trance, and looked to the events that unfolded while he was away. A small smile played across his lips, she would make a good team member.  
  
* * *  
  
"Move peasants, make way for a higher being than you scum"  
  
Shouts rained down on the commoners as the royal guards made way for their people, the privileged guests. They pushed and shoved the wretches from their hovels, kicking over carts that got in the way, knocking over any person foolish enough to get in their ways.  
  
People scrambled to move, not wanting to feel the brunt of a fist, or the heave of a knee connecting with bone. They knew their place. Baskets of fruit, clothing hatches, and carts full of house goods rushed out of the way of the oncoming train of bored royals.  
  
One man did not move.  
  
He was tired of moving and making way before people who held no claim. People who sat on cushions all their life and eating the best grains, while others worked long hours under a grueling sun for rotten pieces of shit. People who were decent and would more than likely give you full price and treat camels as the sacred beings they are, instead of cheating him out of his best and two calves, only to eat their flesh off their bones, killing them in front of his face.  
  
Normally a calm man, Kwanio, left all thought behind. He had a family to feed, had a herd to take care off, and these butchers laughed in his face, claiming they know better. Shoving their royal lies into his gullet, waiting for him to accept it like every other miserable scoundrel that they ground under their painted heel.  
  
But he was not like everyone else  
  
He called for Geb to answer his prayers and lend him his power over the earth. His hands became warm as he felt the reassuring tingle and rush as the power tremored through him.  
  
A huge pillar rose, lifting him through the air, creating a pedestal for all to see his muscular body. The wind tossed his bushy brown hair, as he rose ever higher above the people.  
  
Shocks ran through the crowd, as they saw the land spew forth to create the giant platform for the nomad.  
  
He looked about him for his target, the procession of royals. Upon seeing them, his furry flamed on, laughing and talking gaily, caring not for the destruction they created coming through the streets. His Ba inside screamed for vengeance, needing the royals to plea for their lives, and beg him for a change  
  
Raining his arms, he screamed at the top of his longs "In Seth's name!"  
  
Driving his arms down and away he split the ground. A huge crack appeared in the Geb's surface, spreading and breaking like an eggshell. A deep chasm appeared before the market patrons  
  
Screams broke out, as the people leapt to one side in their own need of safety. Carts and wagons, people and animals fell down the hole created by the angry nomad, but his was heedless of their perils looking out for the deaths of the Pharaoh and his consort. Watching as they screamed in panic, fleeing for their lives, as they themselves scrambled. They cared of nobody but themselves flinging their family members aside, trying to escape the chariot that approaching the still growing chasm.  
  
A bright light emerged from behind the camel herder, glowing in intensity.  
  
But the attack still continued. Chaos was still loose and shedding its fright among the terrified people, hysterical people leaping, moving out of the way. Only to fail and fall in the chasm created by the vengeful man.  
  
A brilliant arrow glowing with its own light source flew through the air, landing on the pedestal with the enraged man. He fell from the height, collapsing the ravine he created. Closing the world above to all those struck down in its deep pits. Among them, peasants, slaves, the queen, and two of her ladies. The pharaoh himself escaped by sacrificing his lady into the chaotic earth.  
  
* * *  
  
She couldn't believe it, only two days ago, she was joking with him. Laughing and complaining of the work they both shared, behaving like they had all the time, not thinking of what a day could bring.  
  
In one afternoon, her lover was taken from her, in one chaotic happenstance; he was buried, in one damned day never again would she feel his hand on her cheek.  
  
* * *  
  
She sat there in shock, not believing what the servant just reported. It couldn't be, things just didn't happen to her, to other people surly but not to her. She was blessed, from her beauty, to her wisdom, to her sons.  
  
Why now had the gods wished to ruin her? To drive her deep within Geb's cold lands? Why did Ra turn his everlasting light away from her?  
  
* * *  
  
Elana couldn't believe it; gods don't attack in the middle of market days, right in the main street. They wait until the Apep eats Ra, or when the innocents are gone. They just don't do that.  
  
She cried into her palms, letting her eyes water. This was not supposed to happen. They had plans, dreams goals for later years. They were going to have children together.  
  
"I want ten sons, and ten daughters. Then I'll be the richest slave ever to grace the lands of the Nile."  
  
His voice still echoed in her head, the cool calm masculine voice she grew to love. One tear came down over her tanned skin, but she quickly wiped it away. She couldn't morn, not yet.  
  
She would not believe it until she saw the upturned earth for herself; no one could get in her way.  
  
Not until she saw the proof that he was never coming back would she begin her unstoppable tears.  
  
* * *  
  
Nefetit Acean wouldn't sit still any more. She would not believe it until she met the proof with her own eyes until then the Queen, her beloved cousin, was still alive.  
  
They will so go out to the temple today. They will still go on that Nile boat ride, to the Lower Country for summer. They will still go grow old together, raise her children together, be buried together.  
  
Her blue eyes began to water, ruining the kola that outlined them. She remembered what she said last to her.  
  
"Not today, honey. But tomorrow, the tailors will be coming in with the Greek linen. I think you need a new shift anyways."  
  
That was the way with Tiy, always giving and happy. Completely immersed within her position as Pharaoh's first wife.  
  
Tiy was a good woman, why had Geb wished to hurt her? Nef just shook her head, no; no she would not condemn her Ka to an unfulfilling afterlife until she had proof.  
  
* * *  
  
The slave girl wondered foreign streets, searching for the market. Never before had she been this far away from the slave complex, never seen so much of the Egyptians as she passed them now.  
  
They were just like her and her people, only they had it better. They had paved streets, wooden dwellings, and fresher fruit. But they still lived with their neighbors, chitchatting about the day's gossip, children still smiled the same ways as they played follow-the-Ra, the smell emitting from the alleys, still smelled as bad as it does out in her alleys.  
  
Elana forgot these things as she neared a throng of people coming to look at the ransacked Earth. Men were deep within the dusty slop, trying fruitlessly to dig up the suffocated queen. Each time finding a body, they would pour water over it, a priest would bless it, and then if it turned out not to be the queen, they would dump it onto a growing pile.  
  
Elana moved herself closer, but she was not the only one who had lost life that day. Many families had came to claim their dead loved ones. She tried to push, to move the observers out of her way but couldn't.  
  
Desperate times.  
  
She focused her sight on one of the pile controllers one of the guards sent to make sure the right families claim the right pockets of money still embedded in the dead's coin purses, as well as to make sure the bodies left.  
  
Her vision went blurry, a comforting sense of limbo felt, as she dived into the nearest pair of eyes close to the pile. She was slightly disoriented as her sight combined with that of a young male pile controller.  
  
Bodies lay everywhere next to sandeled feet. They were disgusting; mouths still open screaming silently as the earth poured down. Eyes collapsed from the amount of silt blinding them. Bodies beginning to rot under the sun. Worms and other underground life started crawling under the corpses pale skin.  
  
Elena felt her gut wrench from its position far away, but she looked on.  
  
She looked over the putrid mass of flesh, searching for the one she did not want to find. Women, children, horses, and mules. All frozen in time, pure torture written all over their grotesque visages. Hands clenched upward stiff with disuse. But no ___.  
  
She swept the man's head around, looking at the newly thrown corpse.  
  
And there he was, being tossed like yesterday's sewage onto the pile of death. His warm smile distorted to a cruel image of his last thought. Panic stricken, eyes covered, trying without gain to block the dirt. Eyes that once looked at her with lust. Mouth clamped shut, with thin lips pressed in a scowl. Warm lips that once kissed her hand. Muscles torn and broken as the weight of his doom crashed down upon. Muscles that used to wrap her securely in a comforting hug.  
  
But her lover's last scene was disturbed by a sandal coming down on it, as the earth had a day ago.  
  
The owner of the sandal had a bony leg that was covered by fine linen, uncommon in these parts.  
  
Elana was shocked back into her own body. How dare that women stomp on his discredited limbs. That bitch, no sense of feeling for the dead.  
  
Quickly she moved her own head to the female. She was a noble or a priestess but whatever she was, she was going to pay for that dishonor.  
  
* * *  
  
Nef hurried over to the ghastly scene, needing her proof that her beloved cousin was truly dead. She didn't want to believe it. Tiy was not a freak, was destined by the gods to become something bigger something better. They blessed her. Unlike herself, who was sent to the Temple of Sebek, without ever seeing her family again.  
  
Tiy was the only one who visited her, and actually made her feel at home, needed, loved. Tiy was the one who brought her into the Royal House, if not for her careful prodding's, Nef would surely be a sacrifice to Sebek's carnivores reptilians.  
  
She couldn't lose her.  
  
Not just for her position in the upper class, but Tiy was her only family. She was like a sister, they would do everything together, plait each other's hair, talk her honorable husband, and why Nef choose to run to the temple instead of joining with a welcomed prospect,  
  
But before she could think beyond old memories, he had arrived.  
  
The first thing to hit her, was the smell. Dirty scavengers were quickly picking clean the disgusting bodies of the dead. The dead themselves rotting under Ra's shining rays. And finally the smell that always comes from the trash of the city. No higher-class person ever liked talking with those beneath them, mostly for the stench they emit.  
  
Covering her nose, she pressed on. She saw a guard she knew from the temple, his gaze wandering over the fetid bodies of mere commoners. The only way to get across to him, and find out about her beloved friend was to cross the pile was miserable wretches. She drew in one deep breath, and began to step carefully over the corrupt corpses.  
  
The bodies were not firm, but began to soften as their internal juices deteriorated the squishy muscle and organs. She stepped incorrectly on such body and began to loose her footing, trying to regain her balance she advanced onto a young male's corpse. She looked down before moving again.  
  
The man was very cute, brown hair nicely highlighted, muscles built up from labor, and sunkissed skin. She shook her head, she was actually thinking a corpse was handsome, and for that matter, a slave. Still shaking her head, she glanced over to her contact, who he himself was shaking his own head.  
  
* * *  
  
Pythos told Lina what the next vision had detailed. Two females, one was a bony Egyptian with long black hair that was tied up into a scarf. She had blue eyes that gleamed like fire, not very graceful, cause she landed on the pile after bumping into something. The other female was somewhat easier to find, she had blond hair with a muscular disposition of a slave girl. Her clothes would be well worn, with a few holes by the elbows. The most astonishing fact about her was her eyes, he described. They would be black with white pupils.  
  
He didn't know what there talents were, but know they'll be together somewhere looking at the pile.  
  
She sighed to herself, easier said then done at least the last Egyptian pronounced himself for them to find. He was no being watched by her master, and her new best friend, still asleep thanks to Bevin's skills. But these women wouldn't actually show themselves and whatever talents they have, they would be suicidal if they did.  
  
This crowd wanted the Egyptian land mover's blood, any other foolish enough to use more than what a normal person could was just asking for the same fate.  
  
  
  
A.N. Okay, I lied about the long chapters. So whatda think? My spring break is coming up so I'll be able to write more.  
  
Two things.  
  
First being to Risa and Maxwell, what are your characters' clan colors?  
  
Second: a dear reviewer by the name of Omni, wishes to now if you want a drawing she made of your character, if so, we will need your e-mail address.  
  
One more thing: I have recently read one of the best new writers out, namely Three Spot. He does an interactive fic where the characters actually do give the ultimate sacrifice for their beliefs. Please if you are interested, this guy is still looking for characters; at least that's what I'm told. Ace being the god of interactive fic's that this is already knows what I am talking about. 


	4. Meet and Greet

A.N. I have a tendency to not check my grammar for any mistake or confusions of word choice. In fact I tend not to send the chapters to my beta readers until after I post. So from now on, I do solemnly swear to post only when they allow me. This might push the post date back somewhat, but hey, you'll live. Thanks Viva Glam and of course Sorcerie  
  
Sorry to those who have been holding the breaths, you can officially breathe now  
  
  
  
Lina searched the crowd for the females, her gaze inspecting the pile of rotten flesh and the scavengers that loitered around. Merchants and women crowded around the muck, while guards still had the unpleasant duty of unburying the dead. Shawls of cotton rough sewn linen, and crude fabric lingered on the bodies that still moved. Finding the tell tale signs of a slave were going to be hard, let alone making eye contact to see the pale eyes hidden under dirty blond bangs. If that wasn't hard enough, lets add trying to make out the telltale sign a pair of pale blue eyes, hidden under bangs that were a dirty brown color. The noblewoman should be easier to spot; all she had to do was search for the garments made by a fabric that didn't belong in such a crowd.  
  
After looking at the mass in front of her, Evanaglina snorted.  
  
Easier said then done.  
  
* * *  
  
Like the hidden desert snake, Kwanio "slept". He kept his breathing slow and deep, trying carefully not to alert his captors of his awakening. In the meantime he tried to discover what cell he was placed in, and by whose authority. If under the Pharaoh's order's, then he knew his life would no longer be a debate. The Pharaoh was not known in these parts for his kindness or his mercy.  
  
"Here, drink some water. These lands are not as plentiful as yours with water."  
  
A man's voice brought Kwanio to attention. It was raspy and dry with age, and quiet. The owner was obviously not used to bellowing nor to giving commands.  The thought of the sacred liquid drew Kwanio's tongue to the roof of his parched mouth, for he had not drunk any water since he had been arrested in the market.  
  
The thought of the market brought fresher memories to his mind.  
  
He hadn't meant to hurt those people, the merchants and their buyers. The children and their mother that had come to the market that day for a treat of fresh produce. The slaves who were trying to find some other work in order to get a few extra scraps of food.  The guards who were just doing their duty that day, not causing any trouble. He didn't mean to make their families cry and mourn their loss.  
  
He did mean to hurt the arrogant pharaoh, and his equally foolish wife and his many other female companions.  They preached that they were the gods here in the Two kingdoms, but they weren't.  They might have been godlings in the beginning, but that time had ended; powerless humans had polluted their bloodlines for to long.  All the pharaoh knew now was that his lust for females has come to life again, that he was rich, and that he needed his toes cleaned.  
  
  
  
He did not know of the growing number of abandoned temples, the number of homeless people, of the amount of slaves. Those people now had the same life styles of repressed Egyptians who had to live on the streets begging, pleading for food.  
  
Also the Yearly Flood came late this year, causing his own herd to die and shrivel up from dehydration, not to mention the barley and fig crops to wither. And the Egyptian main surplus, grain. The plants tried to sprout up, but the hot rays of Ra killed that feeble hope. Food became a sparse commodity, making any one who could get their hands on the precious seeds rich.  
  
And who would have guessed that the same Lord, who submerged himself in water every month in a trine bigger than a watering hole, owned all the grain.  
  
The gods were angry at the treatment of their people, their lands, and most importantly their temples. Sebek grew hungry waiting for his alligators to be feed, while Anubis and Osiris worked double time, weighing and judging the dead, who went by the tens each day.  
  
That is why he was there, that was why Kwanio, the camel herder, was called forth.  
  
To take payment for the injustice, for the travesty, for the forgetfulness.  
  
He was the messenger of the gods, their tool to bring forth reconciliation to the Two kingdoms or to destroy it.  
  
* * *  
  
The Egyptian priestess tried to talk to her contact, but the dumb bafoon kept complaining about a sudden headache and loss of sight. His hands went out to grab her, needing the comfort of a hand or a fistful of cloth to know that he was not alone in the dark corners of his mind, while his eyes refused to function properly.  
  
Instead of helping the man, she ducked out of the way.  
  
"May Basset the healer come to your rescue." She said over her shoulder as she began walking away to someone who would tell her of he beloved Tiy. She had to know, more than anything, if her cherished cousin was alive.  
  
She started to get down the pile and move closer to the Grand Advisor's assistant for more information, when she was rudely stopped by a slave girl, naked save for the leather thong across her buttocks and breast.  
  
"Heathen, let go."  
  
She spat out, how dare the flea bag handle her so. Just touching a priestess was forbidden, let alone if done by a filthy ingrate as a Hebrew. Nef tried to shake the girl off, but the girl was well muscled, and not going to let a petty thing as race get in her way.  
  
Prone to lounging about and dancing before Isis's temple, the bony priestess was not in any shape to fight the slave, but she wasn't quite defenseless as a newborn either.  
  
Elana's grab the noble women in the arm, ready to smack her across the face, if it wasn't for the crowd. The slave was angry, but not too stupid to know a pagan priestess when she saw one. She began dragging the spoiled noble away from the stench of the bodies, and away from possible witnesses. The woman tried dragging her feet in the dusty earth, but Elana was used to leading stubborn jack asses.  
  
She turned back to face the heavily makeuped bitch that stepped on her beloved. Elana couldn't think of him anymore, he was gone. So were their hopes, their goals, their happiness. Without him, their dwelling would be a bare wound pussing every time she came through the flap. Her entire existence was nothing without him, empty, cruel and unforgiving.  
  
Life as a slave was not an easy life, no matter how much the traders sauced it up. Working day after day, under the unforgiving rays that seemed to suck the life out of a person. The grueling hours that would cause your skin to crack and bleed from calluses. Worn muscles that feel ready to split apart faster than an old papyra rope while dragging and loading stones up.  
  
A slave's life was filled with woe and hardship, always looking toward the next day, believing that the one true god would save them in the end. The only way to look forward to that goal was in the arms of your family, not while the whip cracks against scarred back tissue.  
  
No with Yoesp dead, no longer will the nights last forever, the days will reign supreme, no longer will the future hold promise, only the appalling truth of more labor and more anguish. Never again will she look forward.  
  
She only was concentrating on the now of her life.  
  
And now she had to deal with the rich Anat worshiper before her.  
  
The slave let go of the woman's arm, wanting to be able to strike her with both fists. Nef didn't understand what was going on, but she wasn't going to allow the pagan slave treat her like this. She striked up her own pose for attack.  
  
* * *  
  
Evangelina the ex-slave rushed around the pile, searching for the Egyptian and the Hebrew. The entire experience so far has been exciting. From a pathetic life style of a servant with no freedom outside a kitchen, to a life searching foreign lands for special people like herself. It was breathtaking.  
  
Not only Bevin's home, where water fell from the heavens every day from her uncle's explanation, to the mystical Egyptians that walked before her. It was incredible.  
  
But she shook these things out of her head for now, she had a job to do a mission to uphold for Pythos, her savior.  
  
* * *  
  
Charles laughed one more time, before stopping for air, after hearing Beast's new translation. Savior indeed.  
  
He had always preached that he was in this business to help mutants, make them able to go outside the walls of the institute and live free lives. He brought teens off the cruel roads for a more pleasant atmosphere, one filled with learning to accept themselves, one that was the alternative to the all or nothing brotherhood life style, those who would give their lives at a word from Magneto.  
  
Instead he raised them from frightened teenagers into adults who would die at his own flick of the wrist.  
  
He counted them in his head, remembering their lives. Logan and his no nonsense attitude. Remembering their past loves, Kitty and her positive demeanor. Remembering their jokes and pranks, Kurt and his wonderful outlook on life, 'chicks dig the fuzzy dude'.  
  
Charles raised his head to the ceiling, twin drops slowly flowing down his checks. They were so young, so happy, so trusting.  
  
And he had smiled and led them to an unforgiving death; he was their killer as surely as Nur was.  
  
If those lives had been enough to quench his evil heart, then the others were just for the pure lust.  
  
* * *  
  
Lina looked around, at the corner of her eye; she saw a flicker of white linen. She stretched to her fullest height, looking over the mob's many heads, trying to see if that was the acquaintance she needed to meet. From that view point she could see many shaved heads of priests... black hair... many earth tones dyes into other fabrics... and a slave holding on to a white pleated linen clad female!  
  
Pushing her way through the growing horde of mourners, Lina slowly made her way to the shade of an empty alleyway, that would soon hold the Egyptian with blue eyes, and the Hebrew with white ones. How fortunate that they would be together!  
  
* * *  
  
Bevin raised the skin to her lips, tasting the clear liquid past her dry lips. Never had water tasted so good.  
  
She looked over to the angry earthmover. She had to sing to him, to make him sleep. Had to open her mouth and once again use her cursed pipes that could destroy.  
  
He lay there quietly, his chest rising and falling too slowly for her liking. She rose to her feet, letting her leine fall back down to her ankles. Positioning her blue and gold tartan over her shoulder with pride for her clan, she moved near the man. She needed to make sure that she hadn't caused him any pain when stopping his fight.  
  
  
  
Her skin footwear quietly padded closer to the man lying on the cold floor. She moved within arms reach of the man, he had brown saggy hair that covered his head completely, even the vital neck. Stooping down on her legs, she moved to brush aside his brown locks so she could check his pulse. Her heart froze - she had never been this close to a man outside her immediate family, not even the rest of her clan members would she dare to get this close to. And she knew them.  
  
She didn't even know his name; all she knew of him was that he taken lives that day, without remorse.  
  
Her own breathing rapidly slowed, her tongue caught in her throat forgetting the water she just splashed onto it. Trembling, her hand inched its way closer.  
  
Closer  
  
Her heart thumbed under her textiled tunic, ready to burst as she hesitantly moved in. A hand leaped out from underneath ruff cloth, grabbing the Celt and dragging her closer.  
  
* * *  
  
The two faced off. One with bronze skin bared her fists ready to strike at any movement made by the white woman.  
  
The white woman just smiled the poor child didn't even know who she was messing with. She started moving her arms, gracefully drawing them into loops, and curves. They danced about in the pale light coming from in front of the building that made their little confidential fighting arena.  
  
Like smoke, they twirled and pivoted, slithering around and around in a deeply beautiful dance that was fit for her patron goddess, Isis. But they had a different meaning all together than in worship to the goddess of women.  
  
The whirling and grace that was a part of the dance that the priestess provided captivated Elana. It was beautiful in its complexities, the movements spectacular She noticed the splendor in the grace and delicate rhythms of the dancer.  
  
What she didn't notice was the twin shadows that did not mimic the pattern forming from the twisting pale arms. They slowed and curled to their own beat, being mesmerized themselves by the dance.  
  
Their hoods opened up, as they slithered along the wall, half scales of muted brown and vibrant red, half wall surface. The twirled along with the woman, being mesmerized by the rotations, relaxing into the dance.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
The priestess stopped her summoning, stopped her dance, and turned to face the newest challenge brought before her.  
  
A girl foreign to these parts rushed into their secluded scene, pushing herself in-between the two combatants. She bent over, clutching her stomach, and gasping for breath.  
  
"Oh thank Zeus that I found you." She panted. "Phew, I'm Evangelina, and I have to talk to both of you."  
  
  
  
A.N. I love the rush and sudden energy one gets by listening to Dolores O'Riordan's voice at 2:00 in the mourning!  
  
Hope you enjoyed. 


	5. Recruits and friends?

Pythos frail arm clenched around the Celt's waist, dragging her away from the Egyptian male. He scooted her and himself towards the other side of the cramped quarters in the tavern.  
  
The old man began gesturing widely at the girl, trying to make her understand. "You-Can't-Go-Near-Him. He-Might-Hurt-You." He yelled into her ear, trying desperately to compensate for her hearing loss by loud shouting.  
  
Bevin looked back at him, hate growing in her eyes. She was not a village fool, not some idiot that the druids had to take care of. She was a woman, worth at least 20 of her father's cattle. No one had the right to treat her like that.  
  
She wouldn't meet her leader's gaze, instead she looked over his shoulder and was shocked to discover the man with control of the earth was getting up. With the help of strong arms, he pushed himself and his big belly off the ground. He was a tall man, with skin darker then most people in this druid forsaken place, plus his clothes were in a slightly better condition then rags.  
  
"She is not a wildebeest."  
  
Reading the man's lips, instead of watching Pythos, she was amazed that the Egyptian came to her aid. Nobody has defended her before. As a female Celt, things were expected of her, one of them being to hold her true feelings away from men. For years she had kept her inner feelings a secret from her brothers or from her father.  
  
But now she couldn't, for it was very plain on her shocked features. Her eyes were wide from surprise, and her mouth hung open.  
  
And she didn't even know the man.  
  
Pythos on the other hand was not happy about the sudden alertness of the new man. He quickly stifled his thoughts though. He needed the earth demon's powers. So far, the gods had chosen their representatives to show themselves. The Virgin Goddess had given her consent with the faithful Evangalina. Apollo being the god of many talents had not only graced him with prophecy, but with a vocalist whom could outmatch Orphesus, if the bard were still alive. And now, one of the most feared Olympians had joined his quest. The Earth Shaker himself had given permission for one of his minions to unite with his band of godlings.  
  
And if the minion was anything like Poseidon, he would have a titanic temper, and an immortal ego the size of the cosmos to boot.  
  
Pythos drew in a deep breath, calming himself before settling with the Egyptian.  
  
"I wasn't going to hurt her."  
  
The Egyptian slowly walked towards the foreigners, his hands slowly spreading out before him in a sign of non-aggression. His bare feet carefully stepped closer, trying to prove he was harmless.  
  
Pythos didn't trust him, but obviously his newest recruit was as captivated with him as he was with the Greek female. She was practically running towards him with arms open - he had to stop those feelings now, before they grew stronger. She could only feel that way about him, Pythos, not the Egyptian.  
  
"No, you were going to use her to get free," The old man began.  
  
The Egyptian was about to contradict that statement with his own truth but Pythos cut in. He had to establish dominance now, and put the man in his place.  
  
"And then slit her throat without any feeling as you did to those innocents yesterday."  
  
Seeing the black man freeze in his tracks made Pythos smile inwardly, that one hit a nerve.  
  
Kwanio was once again brought back to his period of insanity. It wasn't fair!  
  
All his life, he had been stepped on because of his occupation. People would spit on him when seeing him come into a watering hole, but when needing his services they would smile brotherly smiles. No sooner would he turn his back before they would put a dagger in his gut, and take back the money he had earned rightly.  
  
The life of a herder was decent a enough trade, but people saw you as the bastards of the city, for preferring the open dryness of the great desert to the cultured world of civilization.  
  
He conscientiously shrugged; the anger must have been boiling for a while, in order to make him do that hideous crime. For the herder wasn't usually prone to violence. Just give him two camels, his family, and Nut open before him, and he would be happy. Destroy any camels or b too blind by your own love for yourself, and face his anger.  
  
He looked up from his musing; he had to know what he accomplished that day.  
  
"Did the pharaoh die?"  
  
Pythos looked back at him incredulously, the man was a true killer at heart, wanting to know if he bagged the big one that ill-fated day. He decided to tell him the truth, just to watch him crumple again in defeat, if not that then at least to provoke some of his inner anger. Then Bevin would see that he was a terrible man, not worth her adoration.  
  
"No, he lives and breathes this very day."  
  
What the old man expected was surely not what the black man ended up doing. For instead of the force of his rage frightening the Celt, his misery and tears caused the girl to sympathize with him, even if she didn't catch what was exchanged between the two men.  
  
Kwanio sat down on his haunches and brought his worn hands to his face, while streaks began to cut through the grim that was on his face. The power of his crime fully hit the man, he had killed all those people, and still the Pharaoh walks.  
  
"Now is the time to convert him, while he is weak. Do it Pythos! Now!" The feminine voices shrieked in the older man's ears, causing him to clench his head and moan as loud as the tormented herder.  
  
Bevin looked back from one man to the other, unsure of who to comfort.  
  
* * *  
  
"You two have been prophesied about, by the great Priest Pythos of Delphi. And well," the girl was still out of breath from her long run. "We need your help."  
  
Elana stared at the female, her clear eyes looking over the foreigner and meeting with the girl's starlialing green ones. She didn't want to process the information, for her system was adrenaline pumped and ready for a fight, not a long discussion with a girl who was not clear on the ways of the people of the scorched land. Slowly moving her fists down to her sides, the slave moved her back away from the wall and moved closer to the girl, ready to shove her away if need be.  
  
Similar thoughts ran through Nefertit's head as well, angry that her summoning of the toxic serpents was stopped short. They only had to flow with her dance a few more beats and then they would attack, and the Hebrew would have fallen faster then a cheetah's prey. Her serpent creations were almost fully created, they were the painting of perfectionism complete with venomous fangs, they only lacked her guidance.  
  
Nef swished her hand out in front of her, trying to dismiss her creations; they were not needed with the new distraction thrusted upon the two fighters.  
  
Gathering her dignity, the priestess came closer to the foreigner, trying to understand what the twit was preaching for them. Unbeknownst to her, Nef's venomous creatures were not dismissed, and since they were not completed fully, they had their own control over their mystical lives.  
  
* * *  
  
Beast stopped his translating to look in on his teacher, remembering his own dealings with that day. Hank was there that infamous day that they died. He was fighting beside Logan when the professor called the retreat. Nur had surprised them with the sudden appearance of an arsenal of mass destruction. His warriors of the Apocalypse were too strong with the added improvements He gave them.  
  
The four horsemen out of the Bible had came, and the world was caught unawares.  
  
All of the training and preparing were for nothing. All the hours of sweat and injuries, wasted. All the pain and devotion in building stamina and muscle, not enough. All the lessons in the danger room, the scenarios, pathetic next to the real battle.  
  
Battle, beast snorted to himself, it was more like a massacre. Nur didn't even come for the X-men; he just decided to pick a place and eradicate anyone who tried to come against him. He was tired of playing politics; it hadn't worked for him then, so he tweaked his original plan of world denomination.  
  
Military and civilians alike were being exterminated, made examples by his minions.  
  
Bodies lay savaged on the ground; faces wiped clean of any emotion save sheer panic. People lay on the backs, twisted and mangled they clutched at themselves. Children in the arms of their family, with tears still undried on the cold mutilated faces. Cars crashed into each other, in frenzy of getting away, while tanks lay gutted like the buffalo on the western plain. As horrendous as a thousands tornadoes whipping around and destroying anything in its place, as devastating as earthquakes ripping through the soil at eight's on a Richter scale, and as fearsome as the skies opening up to unleash the anger of the heavens themselves, were the fury of His horseman. No one escaped unscathed  
  
Physically or mentally  
  
* * *  
  
With her adrenaline gone, Lina froze, she wasn't in the habit of talking to others then herself, the fact that she made a friend with Bevin was an incredible feat. But that was easy, all she did was hug Bevin, something she wished people would do for her when she was hurt. This was an entirely different conformation. Instead of being the one in power while the other was desperately calling out for help, she had to convince women, who looked ready to bury her with their newly deceased queen, while she was still alive.  
  
They both looked at her, with equal scorn on their faces, panicking Lina summoned her truest best friends.  
  
Callope and Lorn suddenly appeared at her sides, invisible to the agitated females standing before Evangalina.  
  
"Hmm, looks like they wanted to be alone, what do you think Lorn?" Callope wound her way between the two approaching females.  
  
  
  
The reptilian bodies flowed down the sides of the dry clay wall, slithering down onto the equally dusty ground, creating a small puff. Their vibrant hues, invisible from the puff that enfolded into their skins, only gleaming eyes shone as they continued their gliding slink across the ground.  
  
  
  
"Look, all you have to do Liny, is act tough with them. These brutes will understand it, especially the slave girl, she is used to being ordered around."  
  
Lorn feet planted firmly at his creator's sides, with crossed arms assessing the possible newcomer to Pythos' dream. From her position of looking at the women, Callope snorted.  
  
"Don't listen to him, he is after all the guy who told you to forget all about Pythos." Her voice practically purred at mentioning his name. "What you should do is give them common ground to stand on, tell them you are a godling too. And if need be, you can get rough, by showing them."  
  
Lina's counter part gave a wicked grin, while Lina pondered this over.  
  
The priestess's creations ached and caressed the ground, in a fashion only snakes have perfected. Moving their synchronized form over the sun baked earth, to their unaware target.  
  
Nef was oblivious to this all as she touched the girl on the back.  
  
"It's all right, I am a priestess of Isis, I will help you my sister. I'm sure if we go to Basset's temple, nice people will make sure you have a good home, one where this Pythos won't bother your pretty little head anymore."  
  
Her voice was comforting, as her blue eyes starred deep into the Greek's brown ones.  
  
Elana just rolled her eyes. The person was a figcase. The thought that some Greek priest knew of her was ludicrous.  
  
On top of that, everybody knew that the phony priests and priestesses would only "heal" a girl from her disillusions if she paid a royal sum. And by looking at her poor skinny frame, Elana could assume she didn't have any grain with her. The Greek would be truly healed by the one true God, and it was her duty to tell make sure the heathen not become an Egyptian, there were far better things in Heck then an Egyptian life style.  
  
"By Abraham, don't listen to her, she will only lead you astray."  
  
Lorn and Callope were forgotten as the women engulfed Lina in each of their religion's powresses. Everlasting life and other such nonsense were placed in her head as the women continued their doctrines belief systems.  
  
"Like a couple of speckled hens they fight over you." Lorn laughed and whooped for good measure at the sight before Lina's eyes. The two women were almost at the others throats trying to tell the other one off. "My bet goes to the skinny priestess."  
  
"You would be happy if maenads were fighting over your corpse wouldn't you Lorn?" Callope shoved her way into the melee; soon an all out fight would become the ending to such debate. She clutched her delicate ears, "Look Lina, I think its time to show them, and soon, before they ask you to judge which religion is better, and you know what happened to Paris when he was asked to judge."  
  
Lina shuddered; the outcome of that decision was a ten-year bloodbath. She closed her eyes and began her descend into the little pool of energy inside of her, slowly and carefully she dipped into it, pulling out a slender, pale white shape. She pushed it through her hands, forming it as it came out of her skin into a tiny arrow, not big enough to cause any real damage, just to get their attention.  
  
The snakes drew back, and slowly lifted their heads. The sand dripped off as their hoods unfolded and bedecked their serpent heads, gaining their balance before the strike.  
  
Astonished to what was glowing before them, the women backed off. The Greek just smiled and opened her palm out before them, showing the power she could wield before their surprised faces. Keeping her eyes on the women, the lone female brought the arrow miniature before her face, sucking in a breath, she gently blew on it. Letting the tiny arrow loose, free to fly and land wherever.  
  
The snakes took advantage of the rapt attention of the females on the whizzing arrow, and pulled back their powerful necks, opening their adjustable jaws, and brought forth the venom that made their kind famous.  
  
Lina was overjoyed with her contacts' faces. As if they saw Zeus in all his immortal glory, were their faces formed. Eyes wide with surprise and jaws hanging open.  
  
"Good job Evangal…"  
  
Her own eyes widened with shock, as she felt twin pairs of needles puncture her flesh.  
  
* * *  
  
Images wheeled through his brain, twisting and turning. Spearing through the midst of time and place he whirled. Fog and haze covered his vision, streaks of colors washed and twisted around and around, focusing into one vertex.  
  
A single image grew in his mind's eye.  
  
A man walked on a foreign beach, his clothing very different from the people Pythos has had the chance to meet. Adorning his neck lay a single pendent, a glowing sapphire encircled by a band purer than gold and shinier than silver. If anyone could appear god-like, it was this youth.  
  
His deep blue eyes moved from a search on the sandy beach sides and seemed to look right at the diviner.  
  
  
  
Before Pythos could see the slight tilt off a tanned hand, or the sea air blowing into his curly hair, the vision dispensed into a kaleidoscope of colors, each freewheeling, and more dizzinging then the last.  
  
* * *  
  
Shinrei scurried into the gathering area, the dog quickly at her heels. Her eyes roamed over the area, catching each of her fellow teammates in turn. Her shy nature keeping her away from the reaming mutants, as well as Nur's constant need for her abilities, made her sudden appearance a strange welcome.  
  
Alister and Tsu stopped their sparring match, both putting their war experience to work in the mock battle. Slightly sweaty from the match, Alister and Tsu had taken off their shirts. Shinrei blushed with modesty, as she looked them both over.  
  
Alister had age on his side, being the younger male. Archaic tattoos in blue ink covered the Celt's slightly hairy, well-muscled chest. But Xien Tsu had the experience and age to have finely toned his muscles. Revealing rock hard abs, as well as defined pecks, covered with few battle scars, the Chinese man's bare chest was her favorite by far.  
  
  
  
"Beautiful, aren't they?"  
  
Desdemona came out from behind a silk covering.  
  
The innocence that she had brought with her was discarded as fast as her love to her brother. She cared not of her home land, not of the politics of her uncle being set free, or the apparent assassination attempt on her kingly brother. She now focused on things that mattered more to her, her beauty, her desires, and most of all her power.  
  
For days she would sit in front of a smooth looking glass, gazing deeply into her own gray eyes that sparkled with inner mischief. For hours she would tirelessly rearrange her hair, with whatever trinkets Nur gave her from the outside world. Daily she would apply the kohl and ochre, a red powder, to her eyes and lips, enhancing their beauty thrice fold. She would dangle brocades and gold from her arms and ears, weighing them down with expensive finery.  
  
She would do this all to appease her state of mind. She would decorate herself to be more beautiful than shining Aphrodite. Just so she could revel in her godliness, her true calling in life. And also to attract a roving eye here or there. All the men looked at her, they couldn't help it. Her auburn hair always seemed to caress her ivory skin at the same time she cutely dimpled her nose. Much due to her steady affair with the looking glass. Her love interest in herself grew ever more powerful than naricis'.  
  
But something she loved even more than her heavenly charms, was her power. She who even the immortal fates had to bow down to. She who could end a mortals life in one instant. True, even out of control, one blast from her could only stun a person, but not for long.  
  
Nur trained with her daily. He would take her to fields and let her go wild; deciding which circumferences should die. The poor farmers didn't understand the dead grain circles she left much to her enjoyment. With just a slight power surge she could devastate an entire farm. Making the crops wither and fall faster than a pestilence could land.  
  
It had been thrilling, testing her powers over the world. From Abydos Greece to the wintery lands of the barbaric Norse, her powers were tested and fondled. They grew with every practise, encircling the land with a dark cloud of death.  
  
The joy of watching as the corners of once green and lush crop, fall one by one, like tiny soldiers, toppling onto the other, into a black and wasted land. Once she touched, it became a barren desert, worse than if she had tilled salt into the soil.  
  
Many a night had she laughed at the game, and many a more would her laugh continue.  
  
Heisei turned away from the woman, trying to keep disgust from her eyes. She has seen with her ebony eyes as the woman and Nur came in late from such occasions. The Plague pressing herself onto the Lord, acting like a concubine reaching for favors, as he led he to his secret domain. For nights Shinrei has been putting herself to sleep with her own talents, trying to escape the moans and screams flowing out of his rooms.  
  
Lord of the everlasting city, Kazan Rishka, entered the scene next, adjusting his tunic, and tying the cloth over his guard. Seeing him up and about, Xien saluted his partner and returned to his Lord's side, waiting for his newest orders.  
  
Be they despicable or down right perverted, he had done them all, save for the ones that required more than his iron sword. He would clench his teeth, and keep his arm in check; lest he might again lose his honor and thus destroying his only hope for an afterlife. He sighed as his supreme lord demanded the attention fitting for his rank.  
  
"Now, what can we do for you, little mouse,"  
  
Kazan began to get awfully close for Heisei likings, but before he could add more to that leer, her savior in demon clothing walked in.  
  
His whole presence was felt, even before she had the benefit of announcing him. His very presence yoked in the other mutants, commanding them all to listen.  
  
"A new godling has been detected, we leave for Atlantis immediately."  
  
* * *  
  
"Like all things created or born on this plane of existence, Fate has a way of meddling with carefully contrived plans. Bringing in two opposite creatures or organizations together, and standing back to watch the outcome, the ensuing fight, or camaraderie that legends were made of.  
  
Ill-fated, though, was a common term." 


	6. Inner thoughts

Alister looked away from his new employer. The man - no, for such a name could not truly describe his bearings - the divine being before him did not request their presence, but rather demanded they come with him to the fateful isle of mystery.  
  
Atlantis.  
  
In his world it was considered the Holy Land for all magical devises and potions. Druids and wizards alike went to train there, practicing in the land that truly understood. Ships of only the wealthiest were allowed to trade with those lands, a place out of time and existence to the common land that surrounded it. People would pay great sums of money just to see the sand that littered its coasts, or pay in the sums of family members sold into slavery for art or cloth made there  
  
The very place was considered a Holy Land in the old days; one held in more awe than his beloved Eire.  
  
But those were the old days. Words had spread that the land was being corrupted and abused, and the earth mother was not pleased. Men who would boast their ancestry to that land were shamed into silence. Druids who were held above their peers for studying there were now shoved down into the dirt and spit upon when others found this out. And no refugees were allowed into the land of warlords and mystery.  
  
Why this was, Alister did not know, but he was sure to pray harder to the mother and add a fresh sacrifice to her altar before he went to that land. He wouldn't be Celtic if he didn't appease the right divinities.  
  
He leaned his hand down to Angus's head, and the hound, feeling his master's unease, started to whimper. Alister looked down at his great beast, and shook his head.  
  
The dog would have to remain.  
  
And this pained the great warrior.  
  
Since kicked out of his clan, he had nothing. Everything had been broken and marred of its sacredness. His clothes on his back, torn to shreds, his skin, bitten by the same whip that tore his clothes, his house burned to ashes on the cold ground, his future bride.  
  
She wouldn't even look him in the eye; instead she was content to spit on his face with the rest of them. And all his honors and weapons, burned in a great fire. Nothing came with him as he removed himself from his home.  
  
Nothing, save Angus.  
  
Still a pup, the dog followed him, even when rocks were thrown at his retreating pace, until he came to his master's ruined frame. And the dog had never left that tortured side.  
  
To be without him, Alister decided, was worse then going back to his clan to feel their anger and hatred, worse then walking into Donn's dead domain.  
  
But Alister would not sacrifice Angus to the angry powers that surely waited for them in Atlantis.  
  
Alister shivered at the prospect of both.  
  
* * *  
  
Both females looked on with shock. The mere foreigner before them that created the magic arrow was lying on the floor, out cold, as if that little show of "might" had taxed her so.  
  
"In Isis's holy name!" The Egyptian woman was the first to see the importance of the arrow, and was stunned by its aspects. The foreign girl was also gifted by one of the gods, as she herself had been. Quickly her mind explored the possibilities of what eternal god blessed her so, but her mind could not quite grasp which one was in charge of arrows.  
  
The slave herself was just as stunned, first the lighted arrow, and now the girl was lying in the dust, too tired from the example. Her own mind raced as she kneeled down by the girl. Why hadn't she paid more attention to what the foreigner was babbling on about, what was the name she spoke of?  
  
Elana looked over the girl, putting her hand up against the girls fevered brow. "It's all right, the poor child just had too much heat for one so pale." She was used to seeing the signs of heat sickness, but this was a little different, for one thing the child's mouth was still wet, almost full with all her foreign salvia.  
  
"Here, let me see" Nef bent down next to her forgotten enemy. This type of thing is what she trained herself to become, what she had sacrificed all these long years to be. A priestess of Isis.  
  
And as such she knew some potent healing remedies.  
  
The priestess's eye slowly began to rove over the body before her. Placing her fingers on the pale wrist, she almost began to believe the slave was right. The girl had been breathing heavily ever since she has been here, and Ra's might had been especially cruel with his treacherous rays. For one not used to such weather, heat sickness was sure to be a likely answer.  
  
But, in her eyes, it wasn't.  
  
The slave continued her own search of the girl, looking her over, from the hair pattern to the soles of her feet. Her probing eyes saw birthmarks and old scars, freckles and unwashed legs, to a tattoo, and lastly a small wound that still oozed with blood.  
  
She must have made a slight noise, for the priestess soon bent her skinny neck over to the area she was looking at.  
  
Four identical sized puncture wounds.  
  
One pair of white eyes scrunched up in question, while a bigger pair of blue ones grew wide with shock.  
  
* * *  
  
Looking away from his beloved friend, Alister saw a faint movement from his sparring partner. The Chin man was not pleased with their employer's decision. He sat back, away from the group, with his arms folded and his eyes lowered.  
  
For the past months, the two have become very close, almost kin. They both appreciated the magnificence of a good, clean battle, the strategy and work behind one, both enjoyed the thrill of pitting oneself against fate, matching skill and might against a foe, and both respected the honor involved.  
  
But how far one would go for that honor? Tsu would die for his charge rather than risk dishonor. Alister himself preferred being the leader, and therefore would not go that far for any man.  
  
Though, as things progressed, he might die for his brother in arms, the Chin who was still crossings his arms in anger, but not for their demonic master.  
  
Alister knew the look that Pai, as the Chin wished to be called for a nickname, was showing now. Pai was trying hard to show respect for his master, with his eyes down cast, but his crossed arms expelled that idea of loyalty, if anyone who knew what to look for.  
  
Pai was one of those warriors who never stopped seeing danger, and by that, he almost always had his hands on the twin blades he now carried. Whenever he was nervous, Pai could always calm down as he stroked their hilts, and feel the hardened leather against his callused fingers. Only in serious doubt or anger towards his master or himself would he remove his hands from the hilts.  
  
And that's when one should be extra careful around him.  
  
Pai did not join their little group of higher skilled mercenaries just to protect his new master. As his nickname, Pai, suggests, he manipulates fire, by touch alone he can melt the strongest steel or the mightiest grip, burning and searing anything that comes in contact with his hands.  
  
And with his hands free of the normal grip on his blades.  
  
Once when they were talking of there homeland cultures, and of the ever- present honor, Tsu told that if a man failed his master, he was charged to seek torture on himself, a type of purging of wrongful disloyalty. The idea that a man would hurt himself all in the name of loyalty, sickened Alister. When the conversation came to that belief, Alister quickly finished the conversation.  
  
Seeing Xien Tsu crossing his hands, and obviously not enthused with the prospect of leaving to the mystic isle, Alister was worried for his friend.  
  
The idea that the Chin man would hurt himself just because some self proclaimed prince wanted something was enough to make the Celt want to stop the touchable flame.  
  
But just as he knew the Chin, Pai also knew the Celt.  
  
He raised his face, showing off his honor bound eyes and a stiff upper lip, and he looked deep into the Celt's green eyes.  
  
And Alister backed off  
  
  
  
Instead the Celt turned to look at the prince, and his reactions to the news. Where the Chin's eyes were lowered with reserved emotions, the Babylonian's were full of excitement and purpose.  
  
  
  
  
  
"What exactly is our new "godling's" power?" The princely voice was thick with the air of nonchalant, but his entire body language screamed for the need to know. His hands were brought up close to his face, so he could appear to be checking his nails of any unwanted dirt, but instead were clenched into fists. With his arrival, he reclined against the silken lounges, but now he was upright, stiff with the desire for information.  
  
  
  
But all his fake appearances and real needs were completely forgotten when the eyes of his master loomed over him. The orbs seemed to drive right into his skull, right into his soul and proceed with a judgement. If Zan was a stronger man, and could look on without fear, and he would have seen the look of disapproval that crossed the stony visage of his leader. But as it was, he had to look away from the onslaught of power that Nur brought with him.  
  
When the immediate impact from his gaze was gone, the Prince of the Babylonians regained his composer and a haughty attitude.  
  
Flaring his nostril, he stiffly gave in. "Master, what is this godling's powers?"  
  
Hearing the question asked yet again, brought the others into the conversation. All were waiting for their appointed leader's answer. Each holding their breaths in anticipation, and each trying their best not to be so easily read.  
  
  
  
Impassive as ever, Nur granted an answer to his eager minions "He is of water." And with that the demagogue smiled, making his apparent scar deepen in the tortured face and his very eyes turned colder, belying the purpose behind the inimical grin. "Something you might be able to handle" he added.  
  
With that comment, Zan almost leapt at him, anger filling his head at the disrespect he was given. He was a prince and as such deserved better treatment from such an ugly peasant. His surroundings were tolerable at best, but he was used to so much more.  
  
Women for one thing.  
  
His latest partner was good, but becoming boring. And the Mouse was pathetic, a sure pity attempt only if he was desperate. The men were in better quality and quantity, but they didn't seem to realize the honor it is to be favored by him.  
  
Plus the repulsing villager had yet to teach him anything. His power was pretty much the same, it only had grown due to the anger and hatred he feed it.  
  
And here, he had plenty to feed off of.  
  
Smoothing his well-oiled hair with royal hands, he regained his composer. This news was indeed pleasant, only the delivery needed work. And the overgrown ogre would certainly not defeat him.  
  
Fire and water, by nature, didn't work well together. This annoying Atlantian could surely bend against his scalding wrath. This would be his chance to finally challenge someone with his supreme power.  
  
Once again, mortals, gifted or not, would tremble before the onslaught he would provide. They would quake with fear of his princely temper, and would once again walk on eggshells, so to speak, to please him. Women, men, wine, and riches would again be his.  
  
And Nur's haughty attitude towards him would disappear, as surely as any water in the presence of his blessed flames. And the lovely slut, Desdemona, would cower before him, instead of relying on her own power as a threat.  
  
His goal was now in sight, and this pathetic water child was going to be the beginning to his birthright. Smoothing his wrinkled shirt, Zan sat back down, with the air of one who just kissed his friend's sweetheart.  
  
Cocky.  
  
Looking around at the faces of "godlings", Alister saw others sharing in the Babylonian's enthusiasm.  
  
Desdemona was extremely pleased with this information. Finally it was time to go forth to the world and wreck her havoc and begin a new empire.  
  
Yes, the reason to join this motley group of lesser individuals was for the sole reason of being a dictator. Nur had promised her most of the western continent for her own.  
  
As far as she was concerned, it was about time to begin. Smugly smiling, Desdemona languidly returned to preen over her newer jewels and finer dyed linens.  
  
Something Alister knew from the few months of living with the Plague, was that she was extremely ambitious.  
  
And extremely impatient.  
  
And a royal bitch.  
  
For the first few memorable days of their coexistence, she made her conceited feelings known. When she didn't get everyone's immediate attention, she would destroy everything in her path. Anger was her weapon as she attacked their food supplies, and the finer comforts of their lives. New linen would be torn or vilely demolished vases and basins. Not to mention trying to knock everyone out with her growing abilities in one of her more explosive temper-tantrums.  
  
She went as far as trying to harm his beloved friend, when he dismissed her sexual invitations.  
  
As far as Alister knew, she couldn't stop him or his long sword. And with Angus in danger, he had no qualms in attacking her with his own might.  
  
From the first squeal of his only companion he was ready to rip her to pieces. Only Nur's presence was enough to deter him from that bloody goal.  
  
But barely.  
  
And she knew it.  
  
The fear expressed in her eyes when his own pale eyes screamed with fury as his long sword assented, was enough to put her back in her place. Like a reproached tiger before its true master, she backed down.  
  
And from then on, she gave the Celt a wide distance.  
  
But that didn't mean, she was defeated. She still had many other toys to play with. Especially Suminota Shinrei.  
  
Anytime the oriental girl would come near the Plague; she would become a target for verbal assault. Desdemona would treat her far worse than any slave, worse than any cold left over piece of liver that was stuck in her teeth. Berating her day in and day out, on many things, from lack of abilities to her diminutive stature. Her barrage knew of no end.  
  
Just being a female was another reason for the Greek woman to despise Heisei. The threat of competition was too much for the older female to stand, so she would take great pleasure in ruining the fragile persona that Kazan had rightly named the Mouse. The idea that any male, no matter how unappealing, could actually favor Shinrei over herself, was more then she could stand.  
  
The worst part of all the anguish, was that Heisei never knew when it was going to start or end. One minute the Greek woman would be her best friend, acting like an older, wiser sister. And others she would sink her claws in the chin's unsuspecting innocence. The two-faced attitude made it hard for Shinrei to go about her routine existence.  
  
Tormented from the Plague and too shy to approach any male, Shinrei relied solely on the pleasure that her instrument brought her. The smooth bow in her hands, and the finger pinching strings, was a tricky thing to master. And she, Suminota Shinrei, daughter of a whore, and a Jap, had mastered it.  
  
Her other hidden sanctuary, was the kitchen  
  
The cold stone floor, the sturdy wooden table, the enticing smell emitting from a boiling pot, the constant warmth that covered her like a comfortable blanket. And Angus.  
  
In fact he was the only one true friend she had in this over ridden community of "godlings". He was strong enough to protect her, but still kind and gentle like any good dog should be. Whenever she needed to get any emotions out, she would always bury herself in the rich coat of the canine and finally be able to release her worries, her troubles, her doubts, her past. In his soft fur, and smelly breath, she could forget of what she was doing here in this strange place, and even forget what she had left behind.  
  
She could leave behind the danger of being what she was, leave behind the unhappy memories of living homeless, leave behind the hatred given to any one at a concubine's social level, leave behind the ungrateful existence of what she used to call home.  
  
And would stay here, in the comfort and solitude Nur provided for her. Here it was stable, secure. All she had to do was stay in the warmth of the kitchen or her own private rooms and she would remain safe.  
  
But only here.  
  
Going to Atlantis would be more then she could stand. Not the fabled place itself, but the unknown appeal of it. This safe house where they were already brought its surprises, Greeks, Celts, and Angus himself. Taboos and unspoken rules of conduct brought unnecessary clutter to her perfect serene escape.  
  
This is what she left behind when she came. The unknown surprises the terror of living day to day without guides and plans and agendas. Things hovering in the shadows waiting for innocent girls like herself. Terror written in every cold smile, every person a threat, a waiting chill that entered her system for far too long.  
  
She was just starting to get comfortable with this new life, she hadn't needed this new danger unwinding her careful place of serenity.  
  
She must have shown her discomfort of the prospect of going to Atlantis or some small almost inaudible noise, for her beloved friend, Angus, started to push his shaggy muzzle into her leg.  
  
Always noticing everything, was the beloved master of the wolfhound. His pale eyes meet her own obsidian ones with an intensity that Nur could never master  
  
His eyes were not some deep chasms pressed into a scarred visage, but eyes that understood.  
  
Eyes that also shared in the terror, but eyes that knew that everything would be okay.  
  
Pale green eyes that slowly melted the ice that began to form on her spine when the dreaded words were uttered.  
  
Alister just starred back at the quite one, just looking into her fear stricken darker ones. It was all he could do for the girl. Just to be there, and understand.  
  
* * *  
  
The voices came again, threatening to overpower the old man. Clutching his head between his ancient paws, trying futilely to drown them out.  
  
They all shrieked and screamed and moaned inside his skull, terror on their voices, he started yelling, in his own pain, in his own torture that the screaming brought. Unwavering echoes of the fury, a cacophonic blast that besieged his brain. His body began to tremble violently as the screams continued their onslaught on his pour ancient body; convulsions and seizures rocked his frail body. "The godling!" "The child!" "DANGER!" "HELP!" The voices screamed in his mind's ear, threatening to over power his latest restraints. No dagger was in reach this time, no way of ending their endless wailing demands.  
  
Over and over, in a thousand or so voices, all trying to speak, all trying to be the one who got to tell him the news, and louder over any others. Over and over their bellowing in the very deep to the high piercing noise that only a mutt could hear properly.  
  
Tears came to the watered face, as the shrill voices continued their clamorous assailment. Pythos couldn't last much longer, or he would loose what was left of his sanity.  
  
"LINA!" was the last bit of information Pythos could piece together, from the continuous pain he barely could endure.  
  
And then they stopped.  
  
He raised his weary old head, sightless eyes still leaking fluids from where the pupils should lie, tried looking out to the world.  
  
No more.  
  
No more sight, no more nothing, no screaming, no words of wisdom, no suggestions by a more knowledge presence.  
  
The gods no longer favored his quest, his journey of revenge.  
  
Unable to shed any tears, nor hear the moans that would escape his ancient lips, he flailed his arms.  
  
Beating them against the cold stone. Causing the sensation of pain  
  
Over again, and again bringing them down.  
  
He had to know he was alive and if pain was the only sense he could detect, then by all the Olympians, he was going to beat himself forever.  
  
Again and again he raised his battered arms and attacked the floor, pain coming faster onto his limbs, old muscles being assaulted by his cruelty.  
  
And then, it stopped.  
  
Holding his hands, was a strong grip.  
  
He picked up the subtle smell of animal flesh near him. Knowing that it was the Egyptian would have boiled his veins, but just the glory of having some sense left over was enough for the deranged old man.  
  
Newer hands came in. Cold, smaller hands smoothed his face. They took away the need to hurt himself, took away some of the pain that inflicted his delicate system. But then he discovered whose small hands caressed his wrinkled face.  
  
The Celt's.  
  
Knowing that it was the same deaf wretch he so angrily dismissed before, drowned out the smooth emotional voice that cut into his momentary shock of silence.  
  
Instead of joy of knowing he wasn't deaf, something snapped.  
  
* * *  
  
Oh my gosh! I have to apologize for how long it has been since I have posted. Many excuses, lack of a muse, computer problems, and just starting of a new job, come to mind. But I still feel it is necessary to apologize for all those who have been anxiously awaiting the next installment of IN THE BEGINNING. Sorry.  
  
Also good news, with the journey to Atlantis, we will begin to meet our next three mutants. So sorry to Omni, person formally known as flipside, and x-moonchick for the long wait.  
  
I promise, THEY ARE COMING.  
  
See-yah next time 


	7. chess manuvers yes i know Sorcerie

The scarred demagogue looked around him. The sight that met his gaze was disgusting in his eyes. Powers that were still buried under emotion. Abilities that could make those before him better then gods, if they truly existed.  
  
And that was made them excellent lackeys.  
  
Looking around him once more, his eyes met those of the Celt's. His tolerant mood changed immediately.  
  
"Master," the Celt bowed submissively. " May I humbly ask that my canine stay here for this endeavor."  
  
Lowering his eyes, Alister slowly backed off. As a man on the run from his own kin, he knew how to be unobtrusive in front of others, something the Babylonian still needed to practice.  
  
Inside Nur grinned, the Celt has been one of those beings that were not completely under his control. The others he could play on their weakness and doctrines.  
  
But the Celt was not so easy to control.  
  
Alister had no fear of his own death or pain, almost welcomed it for that matter. He had no qualms in seeing his heritage stepped upon, nor did it matter to the Celt if his entire history was subject to degradation. His own stony visage matched that of Nur's.  
  
Emotionless. Expressionless. Uncaring for the world around him.  
  
It would not matter if one attacked him, starved him, sleep deprived him, nothing.  
  
He was as impenetrable as his power allowed him to be. With no weaknesses and no vulnerability.  
  
Save the dog.  
  
The canine was the one uncrossable line for the Celt, as he demonstrated with Plague. And it was Nur's only hold on the warrior extreme.  
  
If this venture would work, Nur would need every "godling" with him, submissive and under his control. No slight doubt, nor secret desire, no subconscious delight could be allowed to live for the plan to work in Atlantis. Not if he wanted to defeat his enemy.  
  
Yes, he knew the old sap was out there. Gaining his own forces, training them, teaching them to use their power.  
  
His advisory had collected two mutants of great potential that had caught Nur's eye. Those who would fit perfectly in with his bunch. Instead that foe had reached them first, getting the upper hand in this worldly game of chess.  
  
It was all Nur could have expected. Some opponent to fight against. Pathetic kings or Emperors, he could take care of with a wave of his hand, his minions ready to sweep out any other supposed threat.  
  
But a real adversary that would challenge him would make him think at this slight game of risk. Would counterbalance him, with rooks and pawns that would fall before him. Challenge Nur's own claim to world dominance, through bishops and knights. A formidable opponent who would know the rules of the game, the way of death and sacrifice. And then be able to surprise him with a queen.  
  
Nur knew how to play chess.  
  
He knew how to hint at, how to plan the perfect trap.  
  
Knew how to win, and how to sacrifice potential pawns, not only for himself, but for the challenger as well. Weaklings that he could not hold onto, sentimental softies that had no place in his group of killers. Healers such as the Egyptian. Or the Norse female with the ability to fly as well as rise into the spirit realm. Or even the Japanese assassin who thought he had the control of lighting. The child in a land far away who could shift change. Or even the pathetic creature that could change a person's feature, from ugly to beautiful.  
  
All worthless to him, all-powerful enough for his opponent. Beings that he couldn't quite control, ones that would have been bad for the upcoming battle, but good enough to deter the old sap that followed him.  
  
Yes, their deaths were quite enjoyable.  
  
And from it, Plague's talents were growing more and more powerful.  
  
* * *  
  
Hearing the latest translation, Xavier looked up. This Alister may have been the key to His undoing. The crowning threat against the ancient evil. Quickly his mind whirled at the possibility.  
  
Alister was a warrior, and by the description a good one. He had tattoos, he was trying to forget his past, and was unafraid of death.  
  
The first mutant that came to mind was Logan.  
  
But he was dead.  
  
Buried outside, in the cold ground, finally at peace, from his past, and the unsettling future that goes on without him.  
  
He died bravely in the last battle. One of the best fighters, Wolverine wouldn't stop. With his muscles, teeth, claws, anything he could lay his hands, he fought.  
  
And because of his abilities, Logan was the first mutant He killed.  
  
That blow to the X-men was immense.  
  
Without the feral Logan at their sides, barking orders and decapitating another enemy, the rest were lost. Confused and disorientated on how to proceed without their grueling taskmaster beside them, the team was mentally afraid. The enduring Wolverine, the one who could always walk away from anything, the one who would heal in the nick of time, was dead.  
  
And with him, any hopes of winning.  
  
Charles would give anything to hear the gruff voice once more call him Chuck. Give all his past riches to see the tough man swagger cross the room, and the "snickt" of a sausage. Would give his last breath to be once more envious of the man's hair growth. Anything from the Canadian would be enough.  
  
Deep within past regrets, Xavier didn't hear Scott quietly walk towards him. Didn't even feel it when the man placed hands on his shoulders.  
  
"Professor?"  
  
Slowly, the professor came out of his internal musings.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Jean and I have great news!"  
  
* * *  
  
Iole watched from within her father's head. Her presence was the one that quieted the others, the one that brought silence to his tortured head.  
  
What was left of her dear old father was gone, tormented beyond human endurance. He was lost to his own demons, lost in the endless thoughts in his mind. A dead man living in a shell for a body.  
  
Seeing their loss in maneuverability and messenger, the Pythias' thought between them. A new messenger must be found, until then, an old Pythia must direct the useless male body.  
  
Grief washed over Iole's presence, as she tried to find her father's soul, it lay buried underneath a thousand walls, protective barriers against the anger he was a witness to. Hidden under grief and anger and hatred, and the even more feared, madness. Behind the demented sockets, and wrinkled face, his soul cringed from the light of life. Trying to bury itself deeper into itself, escaping the punishment, from the pain of acting as the Pythos.  
  
The presence of Iole, in Pythos' head, was alone, starring out to the real world, with tears glistening down her cheeks.  
  
* * * One minute in the dull suffocating hideaway, to this beautiful invigorating unencumbered beach. All Zan could do was stand with his royal mouth fully open.  
  
If Gayomart, the good one, was to lead Kazan Rishka over the Cinvat Bridge to the holy river beyond, then surely this would be the divine mouth of such a river. The place was only seen in dreams. Sands of white stars glittering in the sun, while the sea itself was one of exquisite. The bluest sapphire could not compare to the color that caressed the sand with each pull and release of the tide.  
  
Even Shamash above seemed to burn brighter, as if happier to be on this blessed land.  
  
Every tradition, every ritual, every ceremony, every incantation he has uttered came rushing back to the prince. All the time spent in prayer, and meditation, all the long hours of studying the sacred texts, all the fleeting moments when he was reprimanded by a priest saying he was behaving badly in front of some deity, all his faith seeped back into his soul.  
  
And his legs buckled, as he threw himself to the ground praying to the gods above, below and all around.  
  
Between his mumbled prayers of forgiveness and joy and returned devotion, the Babylonian prince heard a chuckle.  
  
"People have the strangest reactions to this place."  
  
* * *  
  
Kwanio held the old man's arms in his strong grip. Nothing from a male camel, to the frail human, could break the herder's grasp.  
  
He held it, as the blond child shushed the old man, talking to him as if he was a frightened child. Mumbling incoherent words that somehow would sooth whatever demons that tortured the frail body. Almost inaudible, the calming voice hummed an old lullaby.  
  
It was moments like these when he cursed his life. Innocent moments that go by unnoticed by many, and too quickly for most to understand. Small important moments that mean so much ten years from now, and yet at the time, little.  
  
Moments when a mother smoothes the sleeping brow of her child as she hums a lullaby, or a simple look of pride from a demanding father to his son, or even the slight hand hold of two lovers. None are monumental or hugely significant or passionate, or even very obvious.  
  
Those trivial little moments, were what he missed most.  
  
His wife, may Osiris bless her soul, was a good woman. Who would smooth their son's brows after they have fallen asleep to her voice, just to make sure. Would quietly watch from the background with knowing eyes, as he taught all his children the ways of a herder. Would wait by his side, as the new rains would fall, wait for his slight reassurance in the brush of his hand, that their world was fine.  
  
Before he could loose himself once more in his tragic past, the future met his eye.  
  
Bevin slowly stopped her song, for the old man stopped his quaking, stopped the tremors that shook him so violently just before.  
  
Forgetting the herder clutching his hand, the old man jerkingly stood. Pythos took a few shaky steps, hauling Kwanio with him, as if the herder was just some sniffing dog on a leash.  
  
The man made some noise in his throat, a slight grunt of accomplishment and turned back to where he left the young Celt. Blindly reaching out, he grabbed the collar of her shift, and nodded his head.  
  
What happened, and where they were now, was far beyond the herder's comprehension  
  
* * *  
  
The cold steel of his blade reached out and touched the intruder's neck, ready for the slight pressure from its master to sink deep in the warm blood of the man.  
  
Smiling, the blue eyed man just backed off.  
  
"Now, none of that, you're the ones who "appeared" on my beach."  
  
His voice was warm, intrigued with his visitors, but Pai was anything but amused.  
  
The man was true when he said they were on his beach, and even had the right to hold a blade against their necks instead of vice versa. But the fact of the matter remained that his master, Lord Kazan, was bearing his penetrable neck towards the blue eyed man. And that little fact was enough to make Tsu's blade stay in its position near the man's own piearceable neck.  
  
But when Nur's controlling arm reached out to rest on the Chin's arm, Tsu backed off. reluctantly, after he kicked the Babylonian prince in the butt.  
  
Seeing this, his sparring partner, Alister smiled. Just because Pai worked to save the man's hide, didn't mean he had to treat him nice in the process.  
  
"We offer you no harm."  
  
Clearly used to this saying, the man heatedly turned around and started walking up the curve of the beach. Before he took his third step, he called over his shoulder, "Go talk to one of the priests, they will listen to your off lander's speech."  
  
The quick dismissal brought a sharpness to Nur's eye, a quickness to his following step, brought back an aggressive tone to his harsh voice. Gone were the pleasantries, the formalities, the nice easygoing manner from the demagogue.  
  
A malicious voice echoed on the beachfront, halting the man in his tracks.  
  
"You have mistaken us for common visitors."  
  
* * *  
  
Bending over the girl, Elena tried to get a better idea of what she was dealing with. The whole ordeal with the insane child was almost too much for her to handle. She shouldn't be over her looking down and watching over this girl.  
  
Nothing should manner now, her world should be crumbling down at her heels, her life should be passing before her eyes, she should be loss of all emotions and empty, and upset and at the bottom of all her resources  
  
But nothing made sense anymore, from heat, exhausted females to her earlier problems; things just became muddled up and disoriented.  
  
Closing her eyes and backing away, Elana tried to steady herself, trying to come to grips with what was happening. She should run right now, and never look back.  
  
But that was not going to happen, instead, she felt responsible enough stay, and to watch over the girl. Not just because the child fainted in front of her, but because of the small arrow that came with her. The thought that the child was placed in the Hebrew's life for a reason, was enough to make Elana stay, and face whatever else the One above would deal her.  
  
As if to test that new vow, a blazing light entered the virgin alleyway, causing the priestess and slave to be blinded by its ferocity. Lost behind the intense glare of the light, three new figures emerged into the foreign place, each with their own inner demons, and futile struggles of conciseness.  
  
One man was distraught between being angry, confused, and wary of his new situation. The woman child was just as disorientated. Only the older man was unaffected with the rapid change in scenery, too lost in his own painful examinations of moral issues.  
  
Immensely different from anything the others had ever faced, was Iole dealing with her new position. How does one concede with the idea of inhibiting another's consciousness?  
  
The thought of herself "controlling" her father sickened the girl, but years of listening to the older Pythias' orders were enough to squash any doubt she had been harboring.  
  
This was the way it should be, Iole's mentors told her. No man should have ever been allowed the gifts of Apollo.  
  
And that is how she found herself in this position, the small being trapped inside her old father's head. As if she was an ant riding a horse, or even a miniature flea being the puppeteer to a marionette, was she conducting her father's limbs.  
  
Looking out of her father's eyes, Iole remembered the brightness of light, the coolness of the shadows, and all the other joys of the varying light that spilled into the almost forgotten alleyway.  
  
Lost in the back of ones mind, a mere presence, allowed there only by the soul, she had forgotten the joys of the waking world. The expanse in their heads were all grays, no bright hues of gold, or the dusty smears of sand, or even the piercing blue of another's eyes that greeted her borrowed ones.  
  
The two groups of three stood face to face, each finally noticing the others, each bunching the muscles in reaction to the suddenness of the confrontation, each trying to figure out things before moving. All except the Celt  
  
Bevin reacted immediately to seeing the arrow wielder lying on the ground, but before she could reach her, the slave defiantly stepped in front of the body.  
  
Kwanio, being protective of the singer to the end, started raising his hands down towards the earth; ready for whatever action the women might make.  
  
Nef stared at the new battle dance being performed before her eyes; completely startled out of the stomach-quenching quilt that came from her serpent's bites.  
  
But the guilt was not about to release its bronze grip.  
  
"Pythos!" the blond new comer yelled out, clearly exasperated with their sudden appearance as much as the slave girl next to Nef.  
  
But the Egyptian was too busy imagining what the angry old man would do to her. This man before her, was the same that the unconscious female told the priestess about, the same great priest of Apollo.  
  
Nef might not know the proper ways to address such a priest, but she has sure heard of the vengeful god Apollo. His name is whispered in the temples, and every priestess in training knows never to cross a priest of the Greek God, or will soon find one of the Far-Shooter's arrows killing them. The Greek God was known for many things, but the most told tales are the ones of him reeking his inescapable vengeance. From the seven sons of some queen who blasphemed, to the serpent who hunted his mother, are just some of the haunting tales that have even reached the distant shores of the Two Kingdoms.  
  
And now in mere moments from the girl's unconscious fall, was that same vengeful God's priest ready to take Nef's life.  
  
To her utter fright, the old man raised his own hands, in a harsh raspy voice; he muttered "It's time." 


	8. Atlantis

A.N. Well my dear Omni, the job and all the hassels are yours. Once again thank you ever so much Sorcerie and VF girl, you both have helped me more then I think you'll ever know.  
  
A.N. N. Okay we're back peoples, and yes I said Monday, but nobody made any commments until Wednesday that this wasn't up, so here it is. Enjoy.  
  
Kwanio blinked his eyes from the retina searing light that flashed and dazzled his companions. Some were less then pleased for their fortuitous arrival and swift departure from their god-sanctioned alleyway. Looking around at their faces, he saw a mixture of distrust, queasiness, and sheer shock that stupefied their limbs. Most were hesitant in taking steps, others, like the priest, were quickly scanning their new area, while three huddled around the girl child who brought him down a day last.  
  
Kwanio recalled the moment vaguely. His anger and hatred colored everything in a hazy red, perceivable, and open for the clear memory to come bursting through with its awful truth, but still a bit forgotten and broken. He did not remember the screams, the fear, or even the pandemonium that accompanied that day.  
  
What he did remember was the agony that brought him to the end of his madness. The "slap" in the face that reminded him of his soul feelings, the reawakened good side bursting through the red hatred. The hurt from where the 'pretty' arrow had scoured his thread bare cloak, burning the bare skin underneath. After that tragic unimagined day, he still had a welt where the projectile massacred his flesh, a warrior's scar forever telling the unmatchable evil he preformed. A symbol of his lapse in judgment, and a reminder of what happens when one looses hold on reality and their fragile trust with their ba (soul).  
  
Clutching an amulet that was sacred to his god, Set, Kwanio shook his head. Now was not the time to recall the past, not when in such a foreign place.  
  
The alleyway that the old man brought them to was nothing like he ever saw, gone were the gold bricks that reached from the earth to the clearest blue sky, gone was the dusty walkways that were coated in thick and grainy sand, gone were the voices that echoed along the corridors calling out the wonders of their stores, gone were the smells of the strange perfumes trying to mask the smell of rotting flesh. Gone were the reasons why Kwanio hated the cities, and with their lack, a single shiver forced its way down his spine.  
  
Instead of pleasing gold bricks, harsh red stone jutted out at uneven angles on top of black flooring. No matter how high Kwanio tried to look, something prevented his sight, a walkway, a sign, a close line; something blocked the clear open feeling of the sky.  
  
His breath began to quicken as he turned around trying to find some glimmer, some light, some blue in this foreign land. Red brick met him on all sides, suffocating the already dim light into a tiny circle that surrounded him, darkness began to creep out of the protruding corners, looking to his side a black fountain caught his eyes, very slow, pulsing thick water slithered down its cold surface, his gut began to convulse, making him stare at the ground while murkiness and incubuses seeped from the black surface, gloom launched itself from doorways sapping his strength, wheezing he fell to the ground while his dark brown eyes rummaged over the looming hard jabbing angles, shadows jumped and stalked him in their depths, cat calls and wailing voices tormented his ears, covering himself into a tight ball he tried unsuccessfully to feel his power, throbbing pain in his chest attacked him right left and again, whirling around, spinning in various speeds, twirling uninvited red and blackness into one single entity ready to kill him on the spot, he fell.  
  
Kwanio looked up into a beautiful clear blue he ever saw, so calm and perfect, filled with enough light to push back the shadows and shine through the murky depths of the foreign land.  
  
Looking down at the Earth Demon, the Celt blinked, obscuring the perfect blue of her eyes that Kwanio was staring into. Tears filled his eyes, as he stared up into the Celt's face, remembering the eyes that he missed most.  
  
He could look into his wife's eyes forever, and never fail to be surprised by the emotion and intensity found there.  
  
Calming his heart down, he turned away from the girl child; she reminded him too much like his little daughter, Oimpam, who had the same beautiful eyes like her mothers. Tiny eyes that would always look up into his, reaching up her little fingers into his big hulking hands and be reassured that the world was fine.  
  
Little fingers that are now frozen in a horrified clutch.  
  
She is far away now. So very far away.  
  
* * *  
  
Charles sat back in his wheelchair, repeating the words over and over again in his head; she is far away, so very far away. But she technically wasn't was she? Kitty was buried outside with the others, Kitty the always cheerful one who get out of anything, there was nothing they found that she couldn't get herself out of. save that grave.  
  
She will stay there forever.  
  
He would love so very much if she would beg him for driving lessons, find some new way of getting out of studying, even her need for the mall, such innocence she possessed.  
  
Something that was missing from this war-torn world. People would turn dull backs to those in need, elderly folk forgetting the morals that their parents raised them with, parents swearing and lunging at their kids without so much as a kind word for them, creeps who would get away with anything and the world would let them, fires and thieves were common and parents were hardly trying to teach their kids manners anymore.  
  
To them there was no point.  
  
He could be defeated any day, and with Him the hatred, cruelty and hopelessness would disappear. But the fact remains, innocence would be lost. Instead, a lasting influence of self-serving individuals, greedy swearing children would grow up to raise even more greedy children.  
  
And the human race?  
  
Even without Him pulling the strings of hatred, we would be destroyed.  
  
Grunting in a very Logan like manner, Xavier finished his thoughts "It would be a truly terrible thing to bring babies into this world now."  
  
Hearing this, the smile wilted from Scott's face, the hope that once glowed from his eyes abandoned his heart. Slowly backing away, he took Jean's smooth hand in his and left.  
  
* * * She didn't know what to do.  
  
The voices told her to get this far, had urged her through her father's insanity in order to come to this point, and something would happen.  
  
But she didn't know what.  
  
Was the herder supposed to fall, was the archer girl going to live, was the Egyptian woman going to stop staring at her? Was Iole, daughter of the mad Pythos, priest of Apollo, far shooter and god of prophecy, in charge?  
  
The older pythia's were quite.  
  
Not a whisper, not an escaped breath, nor an ephemeral thought graced Iole as she stared at the foreign ground.  
  
A prayer at this time would only undermine her leadership, and showing these god-gifted humans a weakness was out of the question. All she could do was wait, and hope the far shooter was watching her in this barbaric land.  
  
She started up into the heavens, waiting for an answer, waiting for anything to give her a sign that her god understood.  
  
Before this madness, there was a serenity and tranquility that surrounded her. She could go for days basking in the warmth of her lord's rays, listening to the chants rise and fall of timbre voices, fall asleep in the calm that defined her sacred area. Her life was simple and utterly wonderful compared to this hustle. In fact the only time she did anything straining was when she was a vessel for her master, and that was only twice a year, and after the correct sacrifice was given. Other then.  
  
That was it!  
  
Clapping with joy, Iole smiled giddily while looking around her. Whenever the far-shooter communed with her it was always through a sacrifice, or at least a task she preformed in his name.  
  
Her eyes strained to see into the buildings, seeing if she could find any stray pigs or other domesticated animals she could kill. Before she had scanned their diameter, a voice broke her from her search.  
  
"She's dying! Can't you do anything?"  
  
Iole turned and saw the Hebrew glaring at her, accusing her almost for not doing anything sooner. Bending down to the slave girl, she finally took notice of the dying Greek on the ground. Her skin was growing even paler then before, her green eyes were shut tight as a grown escaped her small lips.  
  
This was Iole's sign; this wound was a test from the great god Apollo, healer to the sick, and enemy to the wicked. Iole could almost smack herself for her idiocy; the dying girl was not only Greek, but also an archer such as Apollo.  
  
"There, the wounds there," added Elana, snapping the priestess away from her quite contemplation.  
  
The wound on the girl was anything but serious, a cut that even Iole could handle, the only thing that worried her was the poison. But if the Greek was still alive and as she appeared to be conscious, then Lina should have nothing to fear from.  
  
"How did this happen" Iole asked. The voice still surprised her; the booming tone of her father was shocking to her. It was yet another reminder of how things were so screwed up, not to mention how she has no control over the timber or pitch of such a voice. When she asked a simple question, the powerful vocals turned it into a challenge, just daring anyone to answer her.  
  
Iole was even more surprised to hear a response, she herself has always gone quite and a tad bit scared when her father would use such a tone on her.  
  
"I made it happen." The voice was hesitant at first but with each confession it gained confidence. "I conjured up snakes for protection, and they bit her"  
  
The proud Egyptian woman stood up from the huddle, and looked straight into the eyes of the old priest. He would not scare her.  
  
She who has faced down the tyrants of the palace, escorted heretics to the doom, and even faced the reptiles that have made Sebek, King of the Crocodiles famous. She would not back down from such a god's priestling. She too was a god's priestess, and she would defend that honor to the last breath, and she would do it all by maintaining dignity.  
  
"I was the one who brought the snakes," She began again, getting in Pytho's face, cold blue eyes dissecting his every move, " You see, dear priest, I am a Priestess of the goddess Isis, I have my owwnnn special techniques." She turned away from him with this, a true sign of contempt and challenge from one's security. She herself was shacking inwardly.  
  
Would he call her bluff?  
  
The old man sat back, his mind working furiously, and Iole even more so. If it was just a spell given by a fake priestess, and one who is not that powerful any ways, then the venom couldn't be that poisonous or deadly at all!  
  
Clapping her father's hands once more, Iole moved in closer to the energy archer.  
  
"Praise be to Apollo" was all the others could make out as the priest began his prayers to heal the girl.  
  
* * * "Unhand me sir," a shriek filed the courtyard followed by rather loud thumps as the palace guard were knocked unconscious.  
  
" 'Scuse me highness, but my uh. friends. and I need to borrow your guards costumes, while you give your speech." He smiled one of his lady-killers and let his good o'le baby blue eyes do the rest.  
  
If Plague didn't know any better, she would give him anything he wanted, and that's exactly how they ended up wearing imperial guard uniforms. The smitten princess was putty in their kind host's arms, which truth to tell bothered the Greek woman.  
  
Just like anything else in this exotic country, he was beautiful. Not just comely like how the barbaric Celt when he had forgotten to shave, nor outlandish as the Babylonian, but beautiful.  
  
Suntouched from the armpits to . other places, heavenly blue eyes that twinkled when his gorgeous white teeth outshone the sky, a curly hair that just longs to be played with, and most of all a body of a. of a god! And not just any, wither this is the younger version of the romancer Zeus, which it couldn't be, or she was in the very presence of Apollo, lord almighty!  
  
Just watching him in his uniform gave her chills that she had to fake for a very long time now, how his arms were just threatened to rip his shirt if he moved fast.  
  
While her eyes traveled down the Atlantians firm body, other eyes tracked her from afar. He was not pleased by her quite obsession with a man so low breed as the Atlantian. The anger he felt was nothing compared to the fleeting temper tantrum his accomplices have seen him carry out.  
  
No this was far worse, something that wouldn't be fixed easily with a simple fuck, nor a monotonous lesson on power. This anger was not just any anger that would spill over like a liquid in a cup, and truth be told, he really didn't even suspect the true reason behind it. He did realize the red that flashed his vision; the hatred pounding in his head, demanding in a cruel energy that was rightfully his.  
  
He would not let some pompous arrogant foreigner get the better of him, wouldn't let the panhandler to flaunt around and undermine his royal nobility, couldn't allow that braggart to touch things that were naturally, rightfully his. Something he owned by much more then just petty cash requirement.  
  
One thing and one thing only could quench this anger.  
  
Blood.  
  
* * *  
  
She was breathing properly now, and even her shade was a better color, but that didn't mean Elena had to be happy. Not when the truth came out and the devil woman caused the innocent girls near-death. Ever since she saw the mule she knew the Egyptian was trouble, her haughty attitude, the overbearing presence, not to mention her disrespect of life, or the dead.  
  
That was still a big deal in her life, forget this new place filled with its wonders and strangeness, it was still a cruel cold world without her lover, still as empty and void of happiness as it was even before the bitch stepped on him.  
  
Her new companions were no better. The other Egyptian was absolutely nuts, and the older man could as well as be, and the young girl was short a few stones of a pyramid.  
  
This entire arrangement was getting on her nerves, and yet.  
  
She has escaped, escaped the boundaries put on her kind, left the assaulting whip and the heavy stone behind her, renounced her former life for one of freedom.  
  
And she missed it.  
  
She missed coming home and watching the cruel hot sun give off beautiful images that hieroglyphics barley captured, she missed the grainy sand oozing in hot water for the absolute best foot massage, and most off missed having swore muscles from the log days hauling stones and getting a satisfying hug from Yoesp  
  
Her days looked bleak indeed without the harsh realities of home to keep her stable  
  
Looking around her at the harsh stone walls and unfamiliar markers, Elana shivered.  
  
The Celt and her ever-watchful eyes saw her shiver, and came over to her, she was humming a little ditty that just came to mind, something her mother used to sing when she couldn't fall asleep because Cernunnos's small dead minions were always under her bed.  
  
Bevin grunted to herself, her mother would come in only if her nurses could never shut her up before hand. It was not that great of a life to know that your mere presence bothered your father, that your mother would dote on your brothers over you.  
  
She looked to the sky, a single tear making its way down her pale cheek, she didn't miss it at all, and it was nothing to her. In time, maybe she could forget the harsh realities given to her because of her parents surreal lack of affection, maybe misplace the memories that held all the cold heartless nights when they all had to put on the masks of happy family in front of important guests or visiting chieftains, maybe she would disremember all the times she cried herself to sleep begging somebody to take her away.  
  
Closing her cold blue eyes and biting her lower lip, Bevin took a deep breath.  
  
She looked over at her close comrade, Evenglina, laying on the ground under the careful ministrations of a psychotic priest, in the middle of some foreign market in an even stranger place.  
  
And that's probably the thing the bugged Bevin the most.  
  
This place gave her the creeps with no signs of hustle and bustle common in heavily populated clan gatherings; no wafting smells of freshly killed meat selections, nor finely crafted jewelry being pushed into your face by hungry designers.  
  
And yet, who would build houses, create homespun garments, and excessive plumbing, if not to live in it?  
  
A small smile played on her face while she swirled the comment around in her brain. Silly isn't it, to be thinking of what these people do wrong, when she herself has wished for it daily. She had always wished that her parents would just disappear, leaving the hall alone for herself and herself alone. That the homes would just be deserted by all the annoying, always questioning masses that owed hr family loyalty, the kitchens still piping hot meat pies and simmering ale even though there creators faded away to nothing. Her brothers especially taking with them all their hare brained schemes and frog livers.  
  
Leaving her alone, all alone, just the way she had always wanted it.  
  
Seeing her freedom, her very dream waiting for her to make the first step, Bevin hesitated.  
  
She scratched her arm, drawing red lines on her pale kelto skin, rubbing her bruised wrists where the rope of her imprisonment bit into her flesh.  
  
The gods don't grant life dreams oft, and only to those that they expected to fully understand them.  
  
Slowly, so as not to draw attention from her unexpected companions, she melted into the shadows that fed the darker reaches of freedom.  
  
With her mind made up, Bevin went away from the stony fountain that trickled slowly, away from the others strun all over by a transporting spell, away from the first people that had truly cared for her needs, and left. And nobody was going to keep her from doing what she wanted.  
  
This was something she had to do, something her heart told her was needed, something that she had to see out to the fullest. Each step was like a trumpet that the gods flared, edging her on, encouraging the next step in the darkness.  
  
Saying a quite prayer to the gods above and the gods below, she continued her journey, past forbidden stretches and around hidden bends, completely losing herself in the labyrinth of skinny streets and abundant alleyways. With each footstep her heart grew bolder, quickening her footstep for the sheer brassity of needing to know what was behind the next bend in the road, what was beyond the overused archway above her, what was beneath the stone bridge that crossed a dangerous fault.  
  
Her breath started coming in raged wheezes, and sweat was coming down her forehead by the time she had neared her destination. Either Anu the mother was guideing her footsteps to her destiny or the mischief maker Abarta was behind all this lunacy.  
  
Running her hand over the same customary red block that decorated the tightly packed buildings and gazing down at the familiar patterns of light filtered to the black street, Bevin caught her breath. Whatever it was the gods wanted to show her would soon come to part, whatever haunting terror they believed she could handle would happen, and she could do nothing more then allow her feet to complete their journey.  
  
She turned back ever so slightly, her shorn blond hair teasing her senses. She was ready to except her destiny.  
  
Her feet guided her towards the final bend in her path, taking the step that brought her straight into a crowd of oblivious Atlantians.  
  
Sun kissed hair tied and knotted in strange arrangements with even more complex jewelry adoring their shoulders, as they clapped and jumped in obvious excitement.  
  
Even Bevin's deaf ears could understand their joyous celebrations, bejeweled hands clasped together and pointed to a figure far a way's on a balcony.  
  
Silk curtains and cushions littered the balcony where Alister stood, waiting for their un-required leader to expose to them why they jumped palace guards and waited behind the princess while she was giving her fertility speech. For hours they have waited in the sidelines while Nur closed his malicious eyes and began muttering incoherent jumbled phrases, pausing with a suddenness and then starting up again with such ferocity that spittle would fall from his lips.  
  
.  
  
Shinrei kept glancing at the crowd and back again to her master, unsure of what was to be expected of her and from it nervous, while Tsu just sat watching as the veins in Zan's neck started growing darker and becoming more tense as he mashed his fists into his princely leg. Tsu had a slight smile on his lips as he continued his observation on the drama unfolding in front of him, between the observed Desdemona's flaunting for Nevat and Kazan's obvious hatred for him. And all the while the Atlantian queen kept speaking. Just before she accepted her scepter and a stolen kiss from the charming Hydro, a feral growl erupted from their dominator's scarred lips.  
  
His eyes opened wide with more intensity then ever before, power just shuddered through his whole body, framing him in a bloody aura. His arms burst forth from behind his worn cloak with muscles constricting and scars threatening to rip back open. A cruel laugh escaped his tyrannical mouth with a sound that reverberated through the crowd.  
  
All voices stopped, cheering diminished, and rapid applause was shocked into a fearful silence, as the demagogue continued his abhorrent laughter. Openly people began to shut the eyes, hands jumped to their ears, trying to drive out the hellish noise, children started crying, and all over moans were heard as they felt the true power of En Saba Nur pulsate through their bodies, cruel nature brought them to their knees, horrible thoughts of gruesome death and petulant maggot breeding bodies filled their thoughts as the cruel unforgettable rankling voice continued.  
  
Whatever was supposed to come from his spells was happening, tempers were being strained, and efforts to hide feelings were clearly being written over everyone's face  
  
Where once was cheers and happiness galore, now was hatred and enmity towards oneself and those around them. Husbands would batter their wives for no reason, children would spit and bite, mothers would beat and attack those they didn't know. Utter pandemonium was reaching the levels of chaotic behavior all under the control of one voice.  
  
But one didn't understand it, couldn't conceive of the voice that hunted people souls and drove them go nuts, didn't comprehend while the anger in their eyes blazed with an energy so dark and terrifying that even priests would go mad.  
  
Bevin sat alone in the anger, cut of by some barrier from the rest of the madness, situated so that she could see and watch but not be touched as people allowed the corruptive behavior to eat away their moral beliefs and erode their general innocence to deplete them of their very essence.  
  
She was alone, and she didn't like it. Rushing to the aid of a child who's own father was pushing his tiny face into the ground with such a frenzy that Bevin knew the boy would die if unstopped. But no matter how close she got to them, she could never psychically touch the two, like a poor ghost who could do nothing but fret while the players act out their madness. The crowd surrounded her, trying to drag her into their hatred, some pushed themselves up against her untouchable barrier smashing their bodies into contorted views of evil trying to get at her, trying to make her join their maddens, while all she could was watch as tears streamed down her face unable to do anything to help. Mouths formed words and angry guttural sounds that she couldn't hear, faces contorting into angry masks of complete and true hatred while she was supervised forward by such gruesome and horrifying confrontations that she had to put her feet forward. Her barrier knocking over people and she watching them be squished by some invisible mallet while she walked on.  
  
Her own screams were deaf on her ears while she continued to watch the madness surround her, rude obscenity flashed her way as she watched the human spirit be destroyed.  
  
Going no further, she sank, sank down into a little ball and tried with all her might to forget the visions that paraded through her memory like a druids sacrificial frenzied dancers, her hands kept clenching and declenathing as she tried to keep her head down.  
  
Slowly she started humming, breathless, and wheezing the tune that kept breaking but for her sanity's sake she continued. Her voice was nearly horse from the panicked screams that bruised and scratched as it came out, but she held on to the song.  
  
This was the song she sang that one night so very long ago. The one she had tried to impress and make bold to her father, the song that destroyed her ears and her cousin's.  
  
If the gods were punishing her, let them, but she was going to punish them to.  
  
The song crescendo and her voice became more powerful then the noise outside her barrier, outside her of her deaf head.  
  
Voices that once spoken treacherous blasphemes and hands that once closed down on soft bendable flesh, slowed and paused in their malicious deeds.  
  
Digging her nails into her palms and extracting the blood for the needed sacrifices for her god, Bevin continued her song, rallying the courage she needed for the strong chorus. She sang for herself, she sang for the little boy who's father hurt him so, she sang for her cousin lying deaf at home, for her friends who were to far away to help her now, and she sang for humanity. For their achievements of a skilled hunter in tacking down the prey with less amount of suffering, for the mother for giving birth while she herself was ready to give up, for the child for growing up against all odds in a world that claimed them young, she sang about the miracles being performed each day, music and art she sang about the need for love in the world, and at last she sang for all hope.  
  
Feeling her voice crack on the last note, and her tears drying on her face, Bevin looked up.  
  
The madness that once controlled and defined the crowd was now gone. People sat down next to each other, some lying in the ground looking up in the visible sky crying at their own past errors, some starred off into space with goofy grins on their exotic faces, but all were quite.  
  
Turning her head, and brushing a stray strand out of her eyes, and licking her parched lips, Bevin, daughter of a man from a far away place, singer and bard for all humans felt a blush come to her cheeks. Her lip began to tremble as she looked up at Lugh's chariot in the sky, smiling slightly as she felt his warmth on her cheek.  
  
She had passed his test, and was no longer afraid to use her full talents to their absolute limit.  
  
A single voice inside her head brought her out of the restored moment. "Seize the monster."  
  
Opening her eyes in puzzlement of such a statement, she was caught unawares as the people she just calmed, just helped get out of misery and horror, attacked her.  
  
Looking from the balcony as the mob brought their prize up to the palace, Alister turned towards the demagogue.  
  
His eyes still glowed lightly from the power he had been unfurling this whole time.  
  
The scarred dictator smiled his cruel smile, making the scar fixate deeper into his pale flesh. "And so it begins" * * *  
  
"And so it did, the battle lines were drawn and the teams were established. Nur took the first prisoner of war and demanded the other side to fight. We had no idea that what was about to happen would turn into a myth in all cultures, had no idea the impact of such a beginning would entail for the world, or for humanity." 


	9. Atlantis part 2

Pai stood over the figure he had tied up, hating that the knowledge he had striven so hard to attain was being used to capture young girls. All the hours of praying to the Jade Emperor above and training were now being used to tie up innocent girls with the most beautiful voices.  
  
He had heard her song and had felt its healing touch against his soul. Its soothing melodies washed away his past mistakes and eased his tortured existence. Its pulsating rhythm pounded away at the wall he had put up against his thoughts and feelings; the simple truths hidden in the lyrics urged him to forgive himself. The song touched his mortality and begged him to remember that he was not a god, was not immune to such problems that plagued humans for centuries, no matter how much Nur advanced him.  
  
And now, for such a talent, she was bound and her nearly broken body was under Nur's control. Her life was in his hands, to destroy or to bend to his will.  
  
Whatever the outcome, her spirit would be tarnished; the pure innocence that allowed her to sing from her heart would be corrupted and destroyed.  
  
And he, Tsu of the family Xien, would send her to Nur's waiting paws, ready to destroy the inner essence that allowed her voice to be so pure.  
  
He knelt on one knee to reach her eye level and once more took up the binding ropes. His gestures fooled the others into thinking he was tightening the bonds. Pai caught the girl's eyes, captivated by the blue that smoldered like a dying fire. He held her eyes, his cold, steely gaze making hers all the hotter. Slowly her eyes widened, wondering what her guard was doing. Any other woman would have been terrified of the encounter, trying hard not to scream as a man with unknown intentions advanced on her. But the Celt's eyes reflected hatred and curiosity.  
  
He looked down, knowing she would follow his actions. The power flowed into his fingers as he touched the bindings on her scarred wrists. A thin ribbon of smoke rose from her ropes as Pai burned them, giving her the capability to escape if the time arose.  
  
To her credit, the girl made no noise. She gave not one hint to the others that she could escape, nor a hint to Pai that she understood.  
  
He looked again into the cold flames that flitted across her eyes like shadows, needing to see if she understood. She blinked twice in rapid succession, hinting at an affirmation to his unspoken question. He backed away from her, his job done and his conscience appeased.  
  
Again to her credit, she started making struggling movements as she had earlier. She rocked her head back and forth and moved her legs in an effort to kick him, being careful not to make a jolting movement with her now- mobile wrists.  
  
Pai grunted at her antics, wondering if her diligence and cold fury were endowed to all those with Kelto blood.  
  
* * * She turned her head away in disgust.  
  
Did he actually believe he could save the child from poison, even after hours of it streaming in her veins? Was his god powerful enough to banish the deadly toxin from her bloodstream? Was his god strong enough to stabilize her, enough to enable her to go wandering through this new land in search of fresh talent?  
  
And why were they here in the first place? Why did the girl come into Elena's life? What did the old man hope to accomplish by bringing them here? And why weren't they in a housing development? Were they actually in his town? Who exactly was this man?  
  
Her mind was littered with so many questions, yet only a few answers were available.  
  
Sitting down with her back facing the "good" priest, Elena strove for the answers. She knew only what she had been told by his obvious follower. Rolling her eyes at that, Elena continued her musings. All she knew was that Pythos was some priest. Much to her dismay, he was a powerful priest indeed. And this same mighty priest not only "prophesied" about her, but was also talented enough to transport the people to another place. Maybe another time as well.  
  
After crossing herself against the apparent evil at work, Elena turned once more to look at the child.  
  
Yes, it was true that she felt some guilt and pity for the girl. Out of all of those assembled in the motley group of vagabonds, the Greek girl was the youngest. If anything, she should not have been the one destined to die first. If anything, she should not have been the glue that held the group together.  
  
She and her "sparring partner" were only there because the girl came to them and got hurt as a consequence. But she was also the biggest supporter of the priest. The other man looked as happy to be there as a cat was in water. The only reason why he was there in the first place was that blond female. Yes, Elena noticed his fatherly protection toward the blond one; he had practically stood over her the entire time since they were dumped together.  
  
Snorting to herself, Elena had to wonder if the overbearing protector was even aware that his "daughter" was gone. Looking over her shoulder, Elena saw that the man still huddled in a corner, trying to be at peace with the closed in area that served as their gathering place.  
  
As a slave, Elena was used to enclosed places. She loved to discover the tiny, unnoticed spots when she could. But there were some who had a problem with being closed in, of not being able to tolerate the insides of the temples and tombs that the slaves were forced to construct.  
  
Yosep had that problem.  
  
He loved to see the sun and taste the sweet scent on the noonday breeze. Whenever he was denied these things for a period of time, his hands would turn clammy, his breath would quicken, and a feral look would creep into his eyes. He would do anything to get out of that situation, not caring who or what was in his way.  
  
After several slaves and drivers were injured, the men decided to have him work outside, dragging the heavy blocks up the side or cutting the mighty blocks out of the earth.  
  
"I pity the man who has no fear and try to help the man who has one," was one of Yosep's favorite mottoes. He had secretly told her this when they had had a chance alone together.  
  
Death is not a bad thing, for this way we are finally allowed to share in God's light.  
  
Gazing at the sky in the direction of her beloved, Elena turned and began walking toward the man who she would help, and in return would help her.  
  
* * *  
  
Death.  
  
Beast contemplated that word, rolling it over and over again in his mouth. He had never been truly afraid of its cold grasp, for he had always known he would die like every other mortal being out there. But he was not truly happy with its final conclusion.  
  
True, he was not so religious as Orruro or Kurt, but he was far from an atheist.  
  
He just marveled at some of these ancient people's beliefs. They would soon face the most powerful mutant in all of creation, yet they were still secure in their religious ideals.  
  
All of the Greeks had shown interest in their sun god Apollo, never questioning the fact that the sun was actually a ball of helium and hydrogen billions of miles away. All were ready to face their god of death Hades and his cruel afterlife of Tarterius or the pleasant Elysian Fields.  
  
And the Celts had shown their loyalty to numerous pantheons. The same gods they prayed to were cruel and wicked when the mood struck them. Yet he was positive that if they were asked to convert, they would be steadfast in keeping with their "bloodless ones."  
And what of Xien Tsu? He seemed like he was willing to forsake the principles of his culture. He made it look like he would never go down that path again, preferring to be his own man. And yet he was still plagued by his actions. The days were slowly morphing him into an uncaring sack of flesh, a pale and torpid shadow of his former self.  
  
Could this the key to Nur's downfall, the hope that something more powerful then you will come along and make it all better?  
  
Beast smacked his leg and let out a huge laugh.  
  
The irony of the situation! Apocalypse, leader of the four horsemen and the self-proclaimed end of all mankind, was an atheist, yet he made numerous references to religious texts. It was quite amusing when you thought about it.  
  
Eagerly, he went back to translating the ancient text.  
  
* * *  
  
Elena reached the Egyptian male. She was about to open her mouth when the Greek child sucked in a huge lungful of air.  
  
Running to the girl's side, Elena nearly pushed the old priest out of her way. So great was her appreciation for the older man's healing talents and so great was her relief that at first she didn't see the girl's worried _expression. All Elena knew was that someone swas alive. It did not matter to her that the person was not an Egyptian, not a Hebrew, not a lover. Just the mere fact that hope was working, that death and the ugly natures of people would not rule over all, was enough to revive Elena's joy in life.  
  
It was in itself a very simple joy, seeing the pallor of death leave the girl's face.  
  
Lina sat up only to see a world much different than the one she had left. Immediately, she began calling her friends to her side.  
  
"Well, this is different," Lorn remarked as he moved away from the worried Hebrew woman.  
  
"Way to state the obvious, Socrates." Scorning her male counterpart, she sat on the ground with Lina, content with her view of the others.  
  
Lina frowned as she surveyed the group that had started to surround her. She saw two quarrelling women close by each other. Surprisingly, they were not at each other's throats. She saw the terrible earth demon that had forced her to hurt him, and of course she saw the liberated priest, the man who had taken her away from slavery and had granted her this.  
  
"You know, we are better then them." Callope let drop, feeling the joy that accompanied Lina's approval of the gathering around her. It was really not worth it; they were just a figment of her imagination. She therefore truly understood that the statement was entirely false.  
  
"Yeah, at least we don't suffocate you after you awake." Lina stood with this comment, ready to push back the huddled masses that were indeed getting too close.  
  
Quite taken aback at this statement, Nef said, "Huh?"  
Lina froze where she was, her eyes betraying her panicking heart. She had spoken out loud. That in itself was not terrible or wrong, but she had done it while she was "controlling" Lorn, her imaginary friend.  
  
This had happened to her once before; she had started speaking out loud with Callope and Lorn, much to their amazement of her parents. Unsure of what to do, they just sat back and stared at her. She, oblivious to it all, continued the one-sided conversation. By the end of that incident, she had drunk a strong draft of herbal tea and had wasted her father's coins on the consultation of a priest. After that, she was never again regarded as being normal.  
  
And once more had she blown her cover. Once more she would be disregarded, and once more they would all leave her.  
  
All she wanted to do was crawl away and hide her face, to disappear in a crowd and never be seen again.  
  
She wasn't strong, wasn't fast, and wasn't that quick to learn new things. She wasn't like Kwanio, who could kill dozens of people and feel no remorse, nor was she as important as the priest who had made her better. In fact, she wasn't even as passionate as Bevin.  
  
Bevin probably wouldn't turn. She would stand right there and challenge the others to a fight before she would allow them to get the better of her. Thinking of the Celt made Lina actually search the group surrounding her. She once again took notice of the burly man-killer, the ever-sagacious priest, and the two women she was sent to retrieve, but no sign of her good friend.  
  
"Where is Bevin?"  
Stifling his question of the girl's obvious concussion, Kwanio turned around and looked. He had been so deep in his musings that he hadn't noticed how close the barely clad female slave had approached him. He hadn't even noticed when the child had awakened, save for when the aforementioned female had made a strangled noise of joy. And apparently he had not noticed when the Celt had left his side.  
  
Nef wasn't sure what the girl was talking about, but now with the unexpected question following the absurd statement.she knew for a fact that the priest hadn't been able to heal the dumb chit [chit=note indicating a small sum owed]. Rolling her eyes, she moved away. The girl was whole once again, and the good priest's attention could now come back to her in order to claim a blood price for harming his charming acolyte. Standing next to the strange red wall for better defense, Nef took it upon herself to be ready for an open attack.  
  
Iole was just now recovering from the healing ordeal. True, she was only a spirit, but it still took much of her father's strength to remove the almost tangible poison from her system. Wiping her brow with her hand, she began thinking about where she last saw the Celt.  
  
Actually, the Celt really hadn't made much noise since they had arrived. True, Kwanio made a big fuss that Iole remembered Bevin helping out with, but after that.massaging her temple, Iole sighed. She fixated on the task set before her and forgot those around her.  
  
Groaning with frustration, Lina stood up and began to search the perimeter for the lost Celt. Seeing her new group mates' disturbed faces, Lorn began to grow worried. Had Bevin left when she had spoken out loud in Lorn's voice? Did Bevin now regret that she was her friend? It had happened to her so many times before that Lina was not ready to give a friend up again. She remembered the looks of hatred and of contempt at being seen in the same complex with her. She remembered the bitter jokes of being "touched" in the head by the mischief-maker Hermes, or even a justified attack on her parents by the chaotic Furies. And most importantly she remembered the loneliness that followed. She wasn't allowed to play with the other children, allowed to sit with them during meal times, or even share the same sleeping quarters. To make it worse, she had refused the help of Lorn and Callope, being too ashamed and worried that she might slip again.  
  
Seeing the tears well up in the child's eyes, Elena decided to share her talents with the group. Before she had thought it would be best to hurt those around her, especially Egyptian pagans, but now she would help.  
  
Closing her physical eyes, she began to open her mental ones. She opened them to the strange chaotic mesh that always greeted her when she was searching for the right pair needed. Yoesp had always remarked lovingly upon her talent, always asking her what color was what to her. His yellows were her blues, his reds her greens. "Fascinating," he would remark slyly as she took over his sight.  
  
She had discovered a while back that it was easier to find the eyes she wanted if her physical pairs could also see the person. It was a lot harder if she had a bond or an acquaintanceship with the person while they weren't in sight, though. These bonds were in the mental form of threads, tiny strings that would branch out of a person's body and link to another.  
  
Her own "strings" were pulled very taut, which she took to mean that the others were still far away. Another one was frayed and charred in the middle; she made sure not to follow that one leading to her beloved. Branching off from his string, though, was the Egyptian's; apparently the single trait that the two shared had made a big impact upon her. Indeed, the string was very strong and secure, not at all like the ones that traveled back to her own home.  
  
It always interested her when two people shared a bond with one another. It could be as simple as a reminder of a significant other, as communal as the claustrophobia shared by Kwanio and Yoesp, or as complex and thick as a bond between two soul mates, filled with years of intense memories.  
  
Curious at the bond formed by the simple reminder, Elena followed it to the Egyptian's own center, which would hopefully lead to his connection with Bevin.  
  
Reaching his center of "strings" Elena noticed that he didn't have as many as she had. The number of strings reaching from his center was less then 10, and half of them were as black and crisp as Yoesp's was. Curious about this as well, Elena looked down the paths of one of the brittle bonds.  
  
Unlike Yoesp's string, which was covered in a distant cloud, these burnt and obviously broken bonds were pulsating and bloody. Each one was kept alive by Kwanio's overwhelming pain, reminding him of all the hurt and pain their deaths had caused.  
  
Elena backed away from these mental wounds. It was not her place to go into these.  
  
She could, though. If she needed to.  
  
Once on a string, Elena would begin to "see" how the bonds were made, the memories that created the closeness of the two. She could fully experience what the relationship was and why it was still causing him so much pain. She could go down their paths and know all of his secrets, all of his most private ideas and beliefs.  
  
But before her moral issue on privacy could falter and force a retreat through his painful, broken bonds back to their charred ends, she found a bright blue string close by. Believing this to be Bevin's, she flowed down it.  
  
She began watching the bond memories, seeing everything from how Bevin had tried to relieve his claustrophobia to a strange comment about a wildebeest. Coming closer to Bevin's end of the bond, Elena could feel the loyalty and the deep extent of his caring practically seep through the bond thread. Preparing for the impact, Elena lurched through the end of the bond to gain Bevin's sight.  
  
Gasping out loud with a gag in your mouth is quite difficult, and for Bevin it was nearly choking. Her head swam as her vision flipped from its normal position. Between the rough handling, the burning sensation of her tight ropes and the new pain in her head, Bevin was ready to puke or to black out, whichever happened first.  
  
Elena took command of Bevin's head, looking for things that would help her out. She saw two men conversing in a corner by some expensive silk, a tanned man making his way over to an interesting couple, and riches galore. But the abundant silk and marble that she found wouldn't help her. She needed to see a window, to find a landmark for the group she left behind.  
  
Straining Bevin's neck, Elena continued her search for a window or a something. Seeing a tiny sliver of light on the carpet, Elena followed it toward a window on the far-left side. Striving for a good look, Elena could just make out the round dome of a neighboring black building with two green flags fluttering from the sides.  
  
Having found what she sought, Elena prepared to move back down the bond threads to her own body, but something stopped her.  
  
Rising up and once again settling in Bevin's vision, Elena encountered a pair of cold black eyes.  
  
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice you?"  
Screaming in pain, Bevin blacked out, slamming Elena back from her body.  
  
Screaming as Bevin had just done, Elena found herself on the ground with the others huddled nearby. "A black dome," she said, breathless, "she's by a black dome with two red flags."  
Inwardly, Iole knew she had found her sign.  
  
* * *  
  
Stunned by their dictator's latest show of power, Alister crept closer to the shadows. A good warrior knew when it was best to be noticed by a pleased lord, and when it was best to be humble before an angry one. And angry the lord was. Never in all the days that Alister had known the scarred demagogue had he seen the man react so.  
  
Simple transporting spells seemed to be the tiniest ability he possessed. Alister had seen with a sickening stomach how the people reacted to his "spells". He could smell, as any blind man could, the stench of Nur's power, blasting the people below with such loathing.  
  
And Alister saw the blond save all of them from Nur's wickedness. Saw how she calmed the masses almost to her own breaking point, and had seen Nur smile wickedly as he finished his trap. Never once did the despot actually fight the girl, never once did he even try to match wits against her. He had merely set the problem before her and sat back to watch her solve it.  
  
And then with a mere flick of the wrist he had caused all her hard work to be for naught. He changed the people back into his willing subjects. Once there, the good people of Atlantis brought the Celt up here to be bound and.and who knew what else Nur had planned for her.  
  
From what Xien had found out Alister knew that everyone who hadn't joined this little group had been killed. Cold, simple murder, courtesy of the same companions he now lived with. Oh, those moments in time when Plague would disappear, only to come back with a sly smile on her lips and beads of sweat upon her brow. Or to see Zan filled with haughty power and a touch of insanity in his fiery eyes.  
  
Yes, Alister had been asked to go on one of these little trips, but as soon as Nur saw the physical sparring he held daily with Xien, Nur dismissed it. He had noticed how the warriors had given it their all, using whatever talents and abilities they could claim, be it the fire the burned or the arms that could break rock. Neither talent could truly be "thrown" or projected like those of the other members of their team, so Nur had to be content with what they had.  
  
Glancing at his sparring partner, Alister searched for his friend's take on the prisoner and Nur's treatment. Xien Tsu was betraying more then he probably ever wanted to, standing with arms akimbo and feet apart, ready to come to the screaming girl's aid.  
  
Before he could go to his friend's side, Nevet grabbed his arm. Turning, Alister could hear the Atlantian's accented voice. "Look, I know I'm new to all this 'godhood' and everything, but what just happened?"  
Alister liked this man; he wasn't a total jerk like Zan, nor was he trying to vie for Alister's attention like the vivacious Desdemona. If anything, the man could be said to be a goofy pickpocket.  
  
"Nur's idea of fun and games."  
"Ha, so I caught him at a good time, then, when he just barely missed frying off my entire face?"  
As much as Alister appreciated the Atlantian's comment, he couldn't but hate what was going on. He recognized the tartan and the gold bracelets that adorned her wrists. Had heard her cursing Xien in the name of Anu, the goddess of life. This girl, this woman wasn't just some wanderer on a street corner, but a Celt.  
  
With this newfound knowledge, Alister found it hard to drag his arm away from his sword. So much did he want to come to the aid of his brethren, his kin, and his Kelto cousin that he was almost tempted to stand up against the monster.  
  
But that was foolish, suicidal, even, for Nur possessed the crazed look of a starving wolf before bringing down the bloody kill.  
  
The only thing that was keeping the girl alive under the cruel tyrant was her value. And that wouldn't keep her alive for much longer.  
  
Either she revealed the information Nur wanted or she gave the normal services of a hostage, be they money or the people she was baiting. Seeing how much Nur actually wanted money and the amount they could probably get off of the Atlantian Queen, Alister was willing to bet his left hand that she was bait.  
  
Pieces of the insane demagogue's plans were falling into place inside Alister's head as Nevet left the Celt's side. He was tired of waiting for the warrior's response. No offense to the man, but there was a saying that those who can wield a sword can't spell it.  
  
And since he was never good at waiting for men to find their tongues, Nevet started walking towards his newfound leader.  
  
If anything, this little venture wasn't a bad one. Not only had he his life, but beautiful women and the queen's royal booth to help make up for that little miscommunication when the Atlantian and the group first met.  
  
Plus, beautiful women surrounded him. The Chinese girl was shy, but that added to her all-around innocent look. And wow! The Greek was just waiting to be shown a good time.  
  
He never did like the women who seemed overly eager, for they tended to be the most expensive ones. But hey, when in Greece, as they say.  
  
Looking at the poor wretch that Nur captured brought his real purpose back to the front of his thoughts. The girl was clearly still unconscious; Nur seemed interested, though not in the sense that Nevet felt a few moments ago. It seemed more like a cat-and-mouse game, only on a much larger scale.  
  
And a much sicker one.  
  
Egyptian obscenities flew out of the new leader's foaming mouth, accompanied by a casual shake of the head. Nevet was pretty sure ripping the head out of the socket was as subdued as Nur could get his anger.  
  
Whatever the girl did or said before she blanked out must have really boiled Nur's water. And whatever it was, she didn't deserve to be treated like this, prisoner or not.  
  
"Umm, your Scariness? Sir? I don't understand why you're attacking her, and since I'm new-"  
Before the rest of the words could leave his mouth, the mighty hand of their dictator lord slammed into the Atlantian's jaw.  
  
"That was for your foolery. And this," Nur stated madly as he drove his hulking hand into the soft flesh of Nevet's cheek, "is for your insolence."  
Sprawling onto the floor, the wind knocked out of him, Nevet came to realize that talking to the demagogue was probably a bad thing.  
  
As Alister watched the pummeling continue he just shook his head. Nur's fury had found an outlet, and it might cost the Atlantian his life.  
  
"You see, my dear Hydro," Nur said with another kick into the man's stomach, catching the attention of everyone present. All heads turned toward the act of domination and torture. One thing Shinrei had learned on the streets was not to go picking a fight with the biggest man you could find, nor to make an overly interested observer.  
  
"I plan on using this girl for a number of things." Desdemona cringed as she heard the Atlantian's pain escaping from his bruised and broken lungs, and for a moment she began to touch her talent. She knew how to kill, and if pushed too hard. Releasing it in surprise Plague began to comprehend how much both men meant to her. An almost-lover or the man who had granted her freedom.  
  
"First she will be bait to an annoyance of mine. This annoyance will then be taken care by those who I have gathered, to truly prove to me their loyalty." Zan watched with glee, as his 'annoyance' was finally being taken care of. True, it was not by his royal hand that was spilling the bastard's blood, but the blood was seeping out nonetheless.  
  
"And then you, my dear Hydro, will take care of her second use. For you see, she will be your own personal test of loyalty. Kill her and you have proven yourself; fail and I kill you." Hearing this final statement, Xien turned his back. The girl was going to die. Nothing he could do would save her from her fate.  
  
Hell, his former employer had assigned him such duties before. And he had always followed them.  
  
Why would he give up his own life when all he had to do was kill some traitor to the crown? It was a rather simple choice. In fact, it was a tad too easy to make. Many times had he taken care of his emperor's problems, either by commanding it or seeing to it personally. Thinking back, Xien noticed that blood had covered his hands for far longer then it had covered his sword.  
  
But he hadn't known them. He hadn't known about their families or their goals of freedom and peace. He had never heard them singing with such emotion to actually touch his soul. True, many times they would beg for mercy, call out to the gods for help, or even try to bribe him. But they never had gotten under his skin so much that he felt any desire to free them, had felt such guilt for leading them to their dooms, had felt such hope in their voices for the humanity in everyone.  
  
He never risked his leader's wrath to untie one, either.  
  
He looked down toward the crowd below, unsure of what else to do. Yes, they were still gathered below, still puppets to Nur, still waiting for the demagogue's permission to leave.  
  
Pai grunted at this, they were willing lapdogs, and nothing else.  
  
What was he, then?  
  
There was no doubt in his mind that he was nothing more than an insignificant speck of dust to Nur's eyes. And the only reason he was on the balcony with the esteemed lord was because he had power.  
  
But wouldn't it be easier just to control his mind like all the fools down below? Why was he allowed to think, allowed to have hatred and compassion fill his thoughts? Why was he allowed to be haunted by his past and not have all of his memory and "freedom" erased?  
  
Did Nur like the idea that Xien could feel compassion for some Celtic prisoner and then take over his consciousness? Like some puppet?  
  
"You are lucky Nur is too busy with our friend to notice."  
Grunting again, Xien Tsu turned to face the other Celt that he had become fond of. Always the silent observer, always the first to stray away from Nur's eyes and mind was Alister.  
  
And that had always struck Tsu as odd. He had heard in his travels that the fiercest warriors were those who the Romi have deemed Kelto. He heard that some of them charged like madmen into battles, calling upon their undead gods in shrieking voices, and coming out of the thickest parts of battle unscathed. Demons that hid in human clothing, who ate the livers and hearts of the dead and decapitated them in such a way that the Yanluo Wang, King of one of the underworlds, would turn the dead soul away.  
  
Guan Di, lord of warriors, was even said to be weary of their otherworldly appearance and screams. And yet the man before him was not some demon the Immortals above needed to destroy, was not crazed or loud in any manner.  
  
Alister was by far, just a man.  
  
As he was.  
  
As Nur was.  
  
Nur could do what he wanted with the people below, because to them he was a god. But to Nur, all those gathered in the balcony and those that were coming after him were also gods. And, therefore, you either stood against him, or you stood with him. And no emperor ever destroyed his generals before a battle of world domination.  
  
Oh yes, only the strong survive, as well as the gods of mortal minds.  
  
Smiling to himself with this newfound understanding, Tsu looked up into his friend's face. "I don't care."  
Alister met his brother's eyes and knew from that moment on that whatever Nur held over Xien was over; his friend was free.  
  
Smiling, Alister also gazed down below them, watching the Atlantian pawns fumble around. "Know this: whatever happens, whatever Nur forces us to do, I will never fight against you."  
"Know this, then: I always have your back, brother." Reaching out, he grabbed Alister's hand and shook it. The pact was made, just as the bond itself had been a long time ago.  
  
* * *  
  
"Together the two moved to go and interfere with Nur's plans for their Kelto brethren, but when such revolts are planned and such pacts are made, fate decides to laugh."  
  
A.N. Well that's starts the fighting, did you all enjoy it, (Betas you don't count) was it too long, not enough action? 


	10. One Arrow

Any tribal leader, any general preparing his troops could tell you a single man could make the difference. That one blade can be raised in the thickest part of battle and succeed, that one heartbeat is all that it takes for a warrior to die and finish the battle.  
  
And one arrow shot in the enemy's domain can start one.  
  
Following her leader's finger to the balcony up above, she let loose the pointed phosphorescent arrow.  
  
Watching the heated trail leave her bow's fletch, the girl smiled. This one wasn't quite as tiny as the last one she let loose.  
  
Pai caught his brother in arm's wrist and began his ascent back to the captive Celt. His old guilt was finally leaving him.  
  
Yes, his place as Emperor's head guard had demanded that he perish along side his lord, had demanded his heart cut out with hot iron for his disgrace, and his Shun (soul) to wander dishearteningly in front of the Immortals above. His family demanded his life be spilled to honor their family ancestors while the boy king lay dying at his feet. His honor as a man demanded him to fall on his sword like any good solider would do,  
  
but his heart demanded him to live.  
  
And now he knew why.  
  
Grinning with the rightness of this feeling, Xien Tsu turned just on time to see the barbed blaze make contact with the balcony's silken draperies.  
  
And watched as his blood brother...  
  
Kazan watched in glee, as the onetime handsome bastard lay broken and bloody at his master's feet. That will teach him to step out of place, will teach him to stay in the shadows while the real powers worked, will teach that miserable ingrate just who was the better man.  
  
With another thrust of his foot, the dictator left the site of the dim Atlantian. He was finished with the whelp that didn't even defend himself. Zan seeing his master leave the room with the unconscious and bonded blond and the chin man in tow came close to the sprawling body.  
  
"Oh, looks like he didn't appreciate your questioning." The Babylonian then lowered to his knees and was in the process of punching the bruised Hydro when he got mouthful of water.  
  
Sputtering and surprised Zan stumbled backwards, hitting his elbow hard. Before he could blink, his fire was in his hand and seeking vengeance for that gush of fluid. This is what he had wanted to do for a very long time, and now that the Atlantian had opened the door... Flinging his wrath behind the blaze, Inferno lived up to his name.  
  
Huge flames began licking at the Atlantain's form, trying to eat away at the soft flesh underneath. But Hydro was not about to be taken for granted. Covering his body in a protective sheet of moisture, Hydro was untouched by the tickling flames.  
  
Nevet's anger had been fueled by the pummeling he got from Nur, and now had found an outlet in the annoying Lordling before him. He began forming a water bomb, ready to shove the Babylonian into another coughing spree while his lungs choked on water, when he, Nevet, crashed forward after a deafening boom shook the balconies foundations  
  
Kwanio grinned at his companions, his white teeth flashing in the conflagration caused by the young archer. He looked back at the fleeing citizens; running amuck trying to escape the falling balcony as it began to crash on their heads. Stone and burning silk rained down on the populace before the crowd gathered by the foreign red wall.  
  
If the Atlantians got hurt, so be it. They were worshipping at the feet of those who took Bevin, and Osiris would dam him if he was going to let them escape scotch free.  
  
His hands began to shake as he felt his power coming, feeling it course up from the ground beneath his feet to fill the tips of his fingers and the top of his head. Swimming in the power, he remembered his first connection with the Earth.  
  
The four of them were so proud, not afraid as he had been.  
  
Maybe that's why they looked so betrayed, because he had so much power and yet didn't do anything.  
  
Just watched as -  
  
Forcefully his started shaking his head. The dead remained dead, that's how it is. And that's how it will stay.  
  
Bevin needs him, and he will not let her go to the grave feeling the same as they did  
  
He called upon his strength over the fissures and swells that dominated the ground's life, and from his powers grasp the Earth began to shake and shatter its formal bonds. Together, the power and his mortal flesh built the ramp towards victory.  
  
While the dust began to settle, Shinrei was up and on her feet walking carefully through the murky cloud of mortar to the feet of Desdemona.  
  
During this accident the woman, no the child, actually showed her true colors.  
  
Plague was not truly some killer at heart, not a wench in the form of a lady, nor a destructive entity she tried to fool everybody with. She was a scared spoiled child just trying to make sense of the new world fate had landed her in.  
  
Just like Shinrei.  
  
And right now, Shinrei's empathic ability was going haywire as the female beside her proved just what it was to be fragile and frightened, completely devoid of self-serving motives and other dangerous schemes.  
  
And because the girl code-named Heisei believed it to be true and because her empathic ability never failed her, she trusted the girl code-named Plague. So when the Greek told the Chin girl to follow with no questions asked, the Chinese girl had nothing but instinct to tell her to follow.  
  
Choking as the heavy air began to settle, while his lungs forced themselves to work yet again, Alister tried to make sense of his position.  
  
Rubble laid everywhere; to his side, by his legs, near his head, on top of his stomach pinning him to the other rubble below. Cursing Aberta, god of mischief, he tried to fathom what had just happened. Pai and he were just about to go and rescue the girl.  
  
And then...  
  
Grunting, he winced. His arm was underneath too much rubble to be comfortable and the balcony, well what was left of it, was slowly burning while scorching ash lazily fell on top of him. Believing the matter to is a simple puzzle that demanded no real thinking, Alister merely decided to get out of his rocky crypt.  
  
And so with his mutant power finally showing itself to be the power house that it truly is, Alister started to smash his way out of it.  
  
Naturally of course the reality was a lot harder then that simple statement, but he was used to extraneous labor. One just had to find a pattern or rhythm in which to start, and so Alister began to wiggle his hand out of the jagged earth. Once you gain a clear focus of your task and understand that it won't be achieved in a manner of moments, it was just a matter of occupying the mind. In Eire he used to do such menial labor when not practicing with his blade. His brothers and he had been going to the quarry for five years before the truly found out his secret.  
  
As that memory crossed his mental eyes, the stone crushing seemed to go a lot faster.  
  
.  
  
She had to admit it. She was impressed  
  
The earthen ramp the cattle herder had constructed was a work of art in disposable form. For the ramp called upon uplifting huge sections of earth from the ground, plus it was stable enough to have the five of their group transported over the strange black and red Atlantian City. Not only was that feat amazing, but the terra beneath them was moving constantly, for the closer they got to the ruined tower the less material Kwanio had to deal with. So in essence he was reusing his material once they had crossed one section.  
  
And for all her years in her position as a priestess, and in all the times when she had witnessed other holy doings by various priests, she could still say she was impressed by this peasant's work.  
  
She knew about her own power, by Isis, even Lina knew of her own power. Nef almost knew its entire focus and how to control bits of it. But by the standard in which she was being shown? Her power was nothing compared to the camel herder's.  
  
Then again, she probably didn't need to relay on it as much as he needed his. She had to perform annual ceremonies in which she danced with the cobra, and that was about it. Nobody would mess with her in the confines of the temple sanctuary; nobody would dare to mess with any priestess or any relic without the biting touch of a curse or the more tangible minions of Sebek, the King of the alligators.  
  
And that's the way she liked it.  
  
Silent prayers and vigorous training sessions; both for the extreme purpose of dedicating your life to the goddess Isis and her lord Osiris. And then the pleasures of her station; silk and fine linen, oils and delicate perfumes, slaves and younger priestess to work her hair into gravity defying styles, and the most laguraios pillows a girl could need.  
  
The best part of all of it was no one would disturb her. No man or child had any right to interrupt her daily purifying devotions to her goddess. After growing up in a dirty household with 13 other children and three concubines sharing the harem and aunts and uncles running into you constantly, this life was far better then the one she left. Far better then any that her family could have picked for her.  
  
This life certainly beat any would-be suitor or friend of the family's they could have saddled her with. Waking up to one man day after day, carrying his children and watch while you turn all fat and disturbing while he frolics around with yet another woman. That life was the direct opposite one of which she had secretly hoped for as a girl child. And only a few days ago, it was perfect.  
  
Yes she certainly had a good life as a priestess; the only thing that could rival it was that of being the first wife to the pharaoh.  
  
Mid step onto the next part of the earthen ramp was almost her last before Pythos grabbed her arm to steady her. Thanking the strange old priest, she quickly caught her balance and continued to walk. Her mind suddenly didn't want to occupy her time any more.  
  
Iole continued to look at the Egyptian woman as she made her way up along the clay connection. That tiny lapse in character was more then the overly arrogant woman had shown in all the time that Iole has been the active conscious in her father's almost dead body.  
  
The first time Iole remembered talking to this woman she almost bit off Iole's father's head. But the ex-Pythia understood it was only from the fact that both of them were representing two different gods in to two different pantheons. If the Isis Priestess came into her temple this Pythia knew she would have the guards seize her, no questions asked.  
  
But this was different.  
  
And they were now in a different place. Where their fate had to match and be determined by the fate of the people they were about to meet. All Iole could do was hope that the Greek woman she prophesized for was still safe and not totally corrupted by that dark being.  
  
Oh yes, she remembered him with such a passion that she secretly hoped she would be the one to end his life. He was the man who killed her, who had caused her to inadvertently terminate her father's life as well. And maybe it was the gluttony of her father's scarred mentality that she was occupying, or maybe it was the slaughter she used to perform daily, but she knew she wanted this man's head on a pike. And if she needed to destroy this group to do so, Apollo forgive her now.  
  
And with that train of thought, the wife of Apollo, far- shooter and silver tipped arrows of death at his calling, descended upon a part of what once was the balcony.  
  
It was like a good thriller that engrossed you in by the slightest mention of a any new clue, like any new discovery in a scientific journal that fully transformed any of the old theories, even like waiting for the big punch line to hit you.  
  
Their fight would soon start, well, technically the fight started with the arrow and knocking out Nur's strongest associate.  
  
Beast had to sit back and review the evidence for a while. It was unlike Nur to have his minions weak, let alone fight against each other. And yet here they are, fighting against their own consciousness and berating the other for just being there. Pai stated it correctly when he mentioned how Nur had yet to put them all under his power and thereby making them living puppets. By the professor's account of his own horsemen gig, he had no thought beside Apocalypse's own. So maybe this rag tag group defeated Nur by his own newness to demagogue standards and thus in this resurrection Nur played things smart by controlling his minions. And maybe they were just lucky and stupidly ignorant of the tyranny they left alive. But who knows, maybe he was playing them all along and that's why they didn't kill him in the end.  
  
Beast scratched his chin, and went back to interpreting the thousands of year old text.  
  
Following the lead of Apocalypse after the collapse of the balcony, Desdemona continued her upward climb through the labyrinth the queen called a palace. She did not care for all the riches in the world anymore, she wanted her revenge on her brother, and on her people who could rather leave her to die then suffers the same long days in the palace with her.  
  
Being here and now with these gods from around the world, she realized that life was more then just bloody wars and men with big egos. They have sensitive issue of peace and issues of grandeur that none could have perceived and thought of. Nur has open her eyes to beyond the valleys of olives and rocky coastlines littered with dead sea tales of Poseidon.  
  
Her world has expanded from the cold treasure trove she called a cell that once was hers in her father's palace. Her life has taken a new turn in its development; from fearful child with innocent gray eyes to an experienced woman with all the rights of a queen, complete with the power of death itself. Nobody before has ever been in this position, and nobody will ever be able to stop her from whatever goal she wanted.  
  
And since this is all true, then why did she feel so black and an example of what not to do for all little girls sitting on their mother's lap.  
  
Hearing the muffled footsteps of the Chin girl behind her, Desdemona quickly discarded that thought from her face. It was worse enough the Nur has caught her numerous times, let alone this innocent being before her.  
  
At first she hated the girl child that could ensnare a man with just looking up at him with her beautiful doe eyes, how the child could even earn the respect of Alister himself. Heshie represented everything that Plague could never be, and never could return to if she wanted. And in a small fraction of Desdemona's mind, that frightened her.  
  
For all intensive purposes the change the Nur brought has made her surer of herself, more confident and in control of dangerous situations that would normally leave her in paralyzing fear. But now, she was crying in the corner of her soul that refused to believe that she became a monster of such disgusting proportions, that her own mother would cry out in fear. Death was her power to command, but it was worthless to remember to what extent she can use it. For many a night in the beginning she has tried it on herself, and here she is today as proof of her failure.  
  
Riches are wonderful and freedom is just as delicious, but if you can't even stand your face in the mirror, even one covered and thoroughly changed, what point was there?  
  
Desdemona looked down at her hands, her hands that she tried to murder herself, and succeeded in murdering others with. She could never go back to where she came from, once biting the pomergradent even Persopone had to succumb to the demands of her decisions. The child like innocence that came with being sheltered has left her now, all she could do was continue moving forward, continue to live with her choices and most importantly, stay with Nur.  
  
Only, not as she has been living.  
  
Looking behind her shoulder the Greek woman turned to help the younger girl out, her bejeweled hand reached out to the callous fingers of the worker, and together there footsteps raced to the top of the castle that lay crumbling steps below them.  
  
Encouraged by the way events were unfolding, Lina was quickly clearing the way for her friends with her disruptive arrows, carefully not aiming anywhere near the balcony. Her first shot shook the balcony to a crumbling mass below her, but Lina had no way other then Elana's in and out of consciousness grabble of Bevin's location to be sure that the archer didn't take out the singer in the process. All she had was her faith in the gods above and a prayer to the swift Hermes that the singer was fine.  
  
And so with the balcony edge and the corridor off limits, the archer aimed her fiery barbs elsewhere. To the building to the west, the towers with flags on her right, the huge glass pained dome to her left, even those people below who seemed to converge as a mass of Hades' dead that tried unsuccessfully to climb the earthen ramps Kwanio was building. She never let her gaze in the same spot after her arrows left her bow. She quickly darted ahead, searching for a new target to release her deadly power upon. Never assessing the damages her blows did land, never truly listening as the screams poured forth of the all ready bewildered populous of the damned.  
  
Even once they reached the shambles of the balcony's further entrance she didn't stop, instead she lit many arrows, trying to light her way through the shambling place.  
  
The group met a scene that made Nef gasp.  
  
Like a knife's blade the destructive crumbling of the tattered balcony stopped and dissected the room into trashed and lavishly garnished sections. High finery with silks and Atlantian art, carved reprises and gold inlayed finishes on the dark obsidian rock. A thin layer of dust is all that one could perceive that ruined the perfect area.  
  
That and the slight rumbling underneath their feet.  
  
Dazed and confused from the multiple wounds and the sonic force of the arrow, Nevet tried getting up from the carpeted floor. Looking to his left he saw the groaning form of the Babylonian, also nearly out cold from the treatment they both endured. Wincing slightly as he turned to his right, he could just make out other figures in the smoky haze.  
  
It was true that on some levels the Atlantian was not quick on the up take, but he does understand survival. And he does understand that whomever destroyed the Queen's balcony was not here to sell hot pita bread. Plus he knew for a fact that none of his members of this so called group had dark skin like good soil on a farmer's field, so Nevet crawled slowly and carefully, for his wounds' sake, away from the line of sight. Seeing the Babylonian start to move in a more conscious way, Nevet grabbed the man's heel.  
  
Nevet understood that the man did just try to kill him, he hadn't been hit that hard, but the Atlantian also understood his conscious would plague him a lot longer then a few festering burns.  
  
Kazan in his hazy state of reality followed the Atlantian's persistent pull like a blind puppy, trusting in whatever force was making him move more so then the fact that he knew who was doing the leading.  
  
Slowly but surely the two enemies of opposite elements moved closer to the edges of the room and behind the decorative pieces of Atlantian art and up- hostroled comforts of the palace. The only flurried movement by the men was the removal of the silken curtain pulled down from its place on the wall to lay across their barely concealed bodies. As the strange pita sellers / demolition team cautiously made their way through the dusty hallway, Nevet peeked underneath the fringed edge and assessed his enemies.  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
A stubborn looking woman passed in front of the ambiguous abstract art piece, glaring at the other behind her. If Nevet has to place her with his natural eye for placement, he would say she was royalty. Her haughty lift of her chin and her soft hands declared her to one who was used to being in charge and serviced to. As if this mere missing person was a flagrant disregard to her personal wishes.  
  
The dark skinned man was the next to walk near Nevet's gaze. Now this man has seen hardship. The complete opposite of the stubborn woman in appearance, dark and weathered with muscled arms but a bulky stomach that left his strength in question. However he too looked robbed of fulfillment. To what he was to be fulfilled with Nevet could only guess and thus could only watch as more of the demolition crew came into focus.  
  
"Does anybody see her or any sign of her?" An older man walked into sight cautiously placing his foot in the debris filled section and just as equally careful wringing his fingers around the walls. Nevet could just make out the darkened cloth over his elder eyes, explaining for the slow tread into the hallway. Luckily for that debris Nevets tracks were concealed from any whom would be looking for him, unlucky for the blind old man who could easily break a hip if he slid on any of the small rocks that littered the ground.  
  
Of all the characters so far, this one puzzled Nevet's eye. Here was definitely an old man who has seen hardships and yet also knows of a warm fire with a good palette to lie in. But if it weren't for the growth on his chin, Nevet would swear it was a female walking in the long robes of a cleric. The cleric, who no matter what culture always seemed to be wearing robes and some ritualic mark on their bodies, walked cautiously but gracefully. He sounded masculine with his tenor rich voice but his word choices and the way his hands accented things was much more feminine then what Nevet would consider usual. He peered closely at the man's body language only to be interrupted by two other females.  
  
One was more of a child then any of the others, however only a fleeting glance could be caught by the peeping Atlantian, before the shot "Ahaaa" came from the high classed witch. Believing his cover to be blown, Nevet quickly hid his face underneath the silk curtain and stifled his breathing and listened with all his will power.  
  
"I knew it! I absolutely knew you were wrong. Don't you see she was wrong, she didn't 'see through Bevin's eyes and saw a monster or a dome with flags'! I bet you made up the whole thing!" Her self-congratulating tone continued to mock the "she" in the reference while Nevet could only assume the moving feet were the haughty lady's coming closer to her victim.  
  
A different, deeper female voice joined in the argument, "Well I'm sorry! This is where she was, and don't you dare go accusing me of doing something while your snaky self was busy sulking about how you can't control your own powers!"  
  
"Well if she was here, what happened to her? Did the archer blow her up with half the city block?" A deeper bass, which Nevet logically decided was the big black man's since the only other male was a tenor.  
  
Surprisingly, Nevet was kinda interested in this mellow drama of hatred and accusations much more then his own hiding place. Interested yes, but not so foolish as too take a huge peak, yet. Only after the other two people get in on the conversation will he feel safe enough to know that nobody is paying attention to his little corner behind ugly art and beneath strewn fabric.  
  
"Leave her out of this." "You know as well as I do that she did what had to be done!" Another surprise in the foray, both women come to the defense of the archer. Who, by another logical deduction Nevet assumed to be the younger girl.  
  
"Well then where is she?"  
  
A silence settled in so thick that Nevet could swear he would hear the dust fall. That is until his hapless co-conspirator Kazan began to moan and try to make sense of where he was. As carefully as he could, Nevet turned away from his little opening, and punched the Babylonian hot head.  
  
However his companions moan and his blow probably attracted the silent searchers for the next instant his silken camouflage was ripped away from his face to reveal the covered blind eyes of the elder priest  
  
"What do we have here?"  
  
Xien Tsu heard the two females behind him, but paid no heed as he followed his self-proclaimed master. Nur carried the young singer over his shoulder all the while mumbling to himself vile Egyptian epithets. Pai couldn't understand a thing, but he was still worried for the girl. More importantly if she was to awake at the wrong time and expose their secret rope burning encounter, then they were both dead.  
  
The red rock tower continued to spiral upward and the stairs with obsidian railings and relief's continued onward. A few windows carved out into the rock showed the vast crumbling city beneath the proposed demigods' footfalls. Pai glanced out to the city and watched as mourners and Nur's zombie puppets ambled through crumbling red towers and crushed black walkways.  
  
To the man who has seen death's putrid mark, this city looked as if a bloody wound was filling with crawling maggots.  
  
Shaking his head in dismay, Pai continued forward, praying to whichever immortal that would listen that he would find the strength the get himself and the singer out of this place. Visions of his home land surfaced in his mind's eye while his legs climbed the numerous stairs, green gentle sloping hills, with women walking in the rice fields with straw hats and the silken cloth that would wrap the cold steal of his katana.  
  
He was so busy picturing the sweet fields and tasting the food that his mother used to make him that he almost bumped into Nur's neck. The demigod had stopped in front of an open doorway that led to some sort of rooftop altar. All that stood in front of their eyes was cloudy sky, mountain and an altar.  
  
Ritual looking incense holders and candle platforms lined the procession towards the alter top, lavish red carpet was used, while the black obsidian was outlining the walkway. The alter itself was of simple design, flat white rock, brought from who knows where, on top of alternating piles of red and black stone staires. The altar itself had grooves cut into it, instead of being a perfectly flat top, it had an impression or horizontal dip in the middle. From that groove a small slit brought the pooled blood to a jeweled cup. A raised emblem of the Queen's power made of cloth was over the altar, the rich blue and white threads strangely off from the general darker color scheme of the city. It was as if the royal court wanted who ever the scarifies to see the colors of the sky and its freedom for one last time.  
  
"Find the Atlantian if he still lives, and bring him to me."  
  
With another glance at the smoky temple top, Pai reluctantly turned away from his master.  
  
Shinrei glanced at the retreating Chin man, noticing his clenched jaw and fists. She backed away from his aggravated appearance, feeling the waves of hatred radiating off his form. Desdemona just raised an eyebrow as he passed.  
  
On the inside she might have a new perspective, but that's one thing she won't be sharing with the others anytime soon. Life, especially that of a trained wannabe assassin, demands privacy, or rather masks. It wasn't good to throw a new trick in until you absolutely needed too.  
  
And just sitting on a mountain temple wasn't Plague's idea of dire emergency.  
  
Between the panic attack and the refusal to eat anything on her journey to see her Yoesp's final resting place, in a fighting match, being dragged to the edge of the known world, and finally using her power only to be attacked mentally by some unknown man, it was enough for this slave girl to say she was tired. Her limbs were weak and her head refused to stop pounding, and throughout this ordeal she had a companion who had the temperament of a mule.  
  
So excuse Elena if this is where she was lead by her power, excuse her if she didn't know what happened after she blacked out and then was thrust back into the waking reality by a bucket of warm water from that odd looking well, only to be pushed onto an impossible moving ramp that made her curse the Egyptians even more because this moving ramp could have helped with more slaves back home then it was helping her stomach. She was grouchy, irritable like a slave master, and was thirsty, excuse her if you actually ended up living more then ten more seconds.  
  
But no. Elena saw the girl, therefore Elana was supposed to know where she was, was supposed to work more miracles then any of the so called priests in the group and at the same time was supposed to be nice to the witch of a woman next to her.  
  
She was just about to agitate and release the last bit of rational notion in her body when the priest softly asked that question, 'what do we have here?'  
  
Stunned she turned away from both Egyptians and looked at the priest huddled by the wall with a cloth in his hand. Together the verbal fighters crowded by the hideous piece of who knew what and looked over the priest's shoulders.  
  
"Umm, would you please kindly leave me and my, umm, lover alone for just five more minutes."  
  
Angrily the herder grabbed the man's arm and heaved him out of his little nook. "Why is your lover knocked out?"  
  
"Oh he, doesn't like performing in front of strangers, so he panicked and fainted. Please don't hurt us."  
  
Kwanio's arm was tensing in ready anticipation, but before he could pound the man, Elana came forward.  
  
"Who was in this room before you and your partner?"  
  
"We were ah, a little busy before you took off the sheet."  
  
Nef quickly joined in the interrogation, "Then you didn't see a singer walk past this way?"  
  
"Who could anything with the ground moving underneath you, so to speak."  
  
Iole hunched over so she could peer into the man's eyes. Her father's eyes might be useless, but she, after all, was dead. Her soul or whatever she was now could see through the flesh of her father, in a wider range then even her old vision. After taking a quick glance into the liar's eyes she quickly fired off her questions, "Could you explain the ruined balcony?" "No" "the broken pottery," "No." "The wrecked plants" "NO" "the dead bodies?"  
  
"What, nobody was de..."  
  
"Kill him"  
  
It was if the bloodless ones abandon him, decided to laugh in his face for coming to this cursed isle. His rock crushing efforts were for not. For as soon as he would make decent headway up his balcony mountain a new pebble spills would cause his precarious perch to rumble and thus, he would loose his footing. And due to this hearty labor, the mocking pile of stone, and his previous thoughts, Alister's temper began to return.  
  
He was always taught that a man, especially that of a Lord's son, was to control his temper. There was a time and place for it raging glory, its berserker qualities. That was battle.  
  
A good warrior would hone his anger, control the feelings to such a fine degree that he could turn it on and off at will. That if the time was required to make a stand or a point, the angry emotion could be brought out like a sword out of its sheath.  
  
True, a man could be rowdy and swear, and even get into heated discussions that would require a moment's word outside, but those were not moments of undeniable fury. Those were nothing.  
  
This anger wasn't that kind.  
  
This anger was the one that brave hero's like CuChulainn would call forth, that women would cross themselves in fear of.  
  
Feeling his neck began to tighten, and his eyes began to twitch, Alister fought for control.  
  
There was no enemy close at hand to vent his feral fury against, no flesh to render into a bloody pulp, and no mercy to be laughed at while he bathed in his enemies' blood.  
  
Controlling his breath, in and out, the Keltoi began to calm. A warrior couldn't achieve glory by causing damage to rock. That was a worker's duty, not a warrior's.  
  
Cursing the foul red stone, Alister once again began to climb the slippery slope to the balcony.  
  
However, before he could truly fall because of a shift in the pebble pile, a new form of earth came. One that was made entirely of hard pliable black clay. And small granules of pressurized rock, all for the ease of climbing.  
  
This time around, Alister purposely fell the few feet he had managed to climb. Perhaps his gods did have plans for him.  
  
Perhaps the also wanted to test him.  
  
Carefully he walked around the wake of God-given mound, noting the swath of mutilated city the terra rampaged through, only to stop its chaotic tracks here at the palace. Squinting his eyes Alister could also just make out other ruins that looked similar to the balcony wreckage. Shrugging his head at this new test sent by his gods, the Celtic warrior eagerly began to climb the earthen mound. Stepping carefully around loose areas and spilling unrestrained dirt into his face because of an ill-passed hand grasp of the unnatural moved earth.  
  
After a few minutes of climbing and a dirty disposition latter, Alister managed to get to the top. Swinging his body over the last hump, he carefully peered at what remained of the balcony. Jagged edges and broken columns, dust filled air and no ceiling to protect you from the elements above. If not for the haphazard amount of furnished chairs and gaudy displays of wealth, Alister could swear this was a ruin of ancient times.  
  
Hunting tactics soon came back to him when he heard voices further in the ruins, echoing back to his prone body. Lying flat against the moist earth, the Celt could just begin to hear muffled sounds that could be contused as sentences.  
  
"I knew it! ...were wrong. Don't you see, ....Bevin's eyes and saw a monster ... thing!" The voice was slightly high pitched. Unfortunately, her voice wasn't carrying as well as he hoped. Inching as a close as he could towards the ruined structure without alerting his guests, Alister was able to make out "Did the archer blow her up with half the city block?"  
  
Frowning Alister again edged closer, this time scurrying behind a broken column. Peering into the dim he could just make out the bodies of his mysterious voices. A group of people was converged were his companions once stood. In fact, the older looking male was standing right where Nur interrogated the singer.  
  
Judging his position via there's, Alister sat in a fighters squat with only his eyes peeping out from another damaged section of wall. Safely concealed, he began processing this latest bit of news. From what was happening, he could only assume they were whomever Nur has been training his people against. These people were the ones that truly worried Alister's "druid" priest.  
  
A shift in the others movement drew his attention.  
  
As a group, the others moved closer to the furthest wall near the threshold. Peering closely, they began to quickly question something.  
  
Hearing the Atlantian's thieving voice, all the Celt could do was swear under his breath.  
  
"Wait! Don't kill me!" the water user squeaked. "I can lead you to this singer of yours."  
  
Nef was already summoning her serpents when the man spurted out this last confession. Smiling to herself, as the scales and fangs began to coalesce into real forms, the Egyptian priestess laughed. The simpering of any guilty thief was as much to her amusement as their last screams as they died. Its not cruel, just a sort of gallow humor that changes with each new "victim" to Isis's wrath.  
  
Each prisoner would start off as cocky and flagrant in their disregard, but once they saw death silently stalk them, their arrogant expression soon changed to panic jibber jabber. All of them ready to tell you anything as long as you control the serpents.  
  
Remembering the last time she sent out her beauties, Nef kept a firm layer of control of the soundless slayers. Together the twined up the liars legs, curling around both he and his prone lover.  
  
The fabricator barely blinked.  
  
Cocking his eyebrow, the Atlantian just yawned. "This is Atlantis love... snake charmers and snake oil salesman originated here. Look I'll tell you, just get the scales off heh?"  
  
Not waiting for a reply, the blond began to unwrap the serpents from his legs. No sign of fear nor compelling emotional response proved his statement to be false. The Atlantian handled the death dealers as if they were puppies, gripping them by the jaws and easily flinging them to the side. The snakes themselves, so enraptured and under the control of their mistress's command all they could do was follow her example –which is to say they were startled still.  
  
His patience was running thin.  
  
The liar clearly was just trying to prolong his own misery life. He was a no good feces stuffing royal worshipping dog who had no information they needed. Kwanio was not amused, and was not too happy about this change in his own demeanor.  
  
Turning away he called forth the mighty earth, and under the marble inlay the summoned element rumbled in answer.  
  
Fissures of pressure rocked the palace's weary foundations, the once mighty earthen mound shook and leveled itself against the ground, the lower levels of the mighty palace crumbled in on itself forcing the balcony with the mutants to fall inches.  
  
The others of the motley group quivered with the Atlantian fabricator, all in awe once more of the unstable Egyptian's control. The tossed snakes, called forth by other limited powers, shook and dissipated with rabid natural panic.  
  
Turning back, the earthmover stuck his face into the Atlantian's. Glaring into the widened blue eyes, the Egyptian growled "Tell me, or I will send you into the fiery crushing bowls of the earth. The singer now."  
  
"She left with Nur and the others"  
  
Iole's spirit smiled with this information.  
  
Nur  
  
The enemy's name was Nur.  
  
Named things are no longer enigmatic, named things no longer have the silent quality that instills fear when the wind blows mysteriously, named things are not figments of a dead woman's imagination.  
  
Named things can be killed.  
  
The old priest shuffled close to the prisoner, "Take us to them."  
  
Together, the two men stood the Atlantian up as the women dragged the other. Together the team of misfits moved from the decaying palace to the stairs that would lead them to the end of their journey. Most of the men there did not realize the real reason why they climbed the steep steps, they did not realize that this was just a vendetta against the murder of a priestess. Most did not realize that the fight would be about power, and most of them did not know they would climb their way into a history book forgotten by the known world.  
  
As these titans of the ancient world prepared for their confrontation –saying prayers, angrily grunting, or falling into the oblivion of exhaustion- the ground shook. 


	11. Dun Dun Dunnnnn

They say a Chinese man gazed into the heavens and saw the destruction written there, they say that druids of the Celtic land deciphered the bloody entrails that explained uncountable death, they even say the new Pythia burst out crying from the horrid visions she was sent.

They say that the island of Atlantis was struck with catastrophic energies and fell into the ocean never to be seen again.

I will say this now; it could have been anywhere at anytime when both sides of this genetic Raganrok decided to vent their fury on each other.

They always said Atlantis was considered a cursed land.

Xien Tsu was not a coward.

He was a tactician of the greatest army the world has ever seen.

While his former companions were dragged out of the Atlantian balcony, he began his own assent up the crumbling stairwell, heating the steps as he went.

It was one thing to burn a wick by placing your fingers on the tip, and quite another to burn ropes without a hint of smoke. But to heat the cold, red stone of the palace was quite a different task.

He had no true reason to call forth his power in a flood of heat, no lasting passion to cause these strangers harm, he just knew he had to do something to hurry his companion's captors.

And sweltering heat normally caused one to seek out fresh air as fast as they could.

So, the former general silently climbed the steps, dragging his power-touched fingers across the smooth and grainy feel of the dark stone work. Forcing the stonework to heat up, to sweat, to fill itself with warmth it only knew in its beginning stages of life.

Benten, goddess of luck, may have abandoned him long ago but he was ready to accept his fate. As a traitor, as a force of evil, as a pawn. But he would be dammed to wander past the Immortals forever if he didn't go out fighting like the man he used to be.

By his will, the stones began to glow.

"Shinrei"

That name was probably the only one Nur never spat out of his mouth. Instead he was calmer with her, more delicate. And in this way Desdemona was always jealous.

Her power was death, pure and simple. Its workings could hit you like a sword, killing you instantly, or could be hidden in a gut wrenching pain that forced its victim to believe that death would be preferable. Any assassin would be instantly jealous of her spectrum of torture, any human would crumble in fear of her grasp of power.

Hades himself couldn't cause death, only lord over it in ramshackle version of her powers.

And yet, Nur still favored the Chin girl. Still called to her delicately, still held her carefully so as not to spook the fragile creature.

And Plague would never understand why.

She was trained specifically to be Nur's right hand lady, to be his head honcho and last trick. The one that counted the most in the thickest part of the battle. Not the Mouse from the kitchen, who rather hide under the dog's fur then face her master.

In a battle Shinrei would be useless, so why was this pitiful attempt of a warrior his favorite and least trained member?

"Shinrei" he called again.

And this time the young girl stepped forward.

"Stand by the door way and do what we talked about."

Obeying without hesitation, the scarred daughter of a prostitute walked near the doorway. She was not right in front of it, only close by. Close enough to see anybody walking in before Nur, but out of reach enough that she wouldn't be hurt immediately.

Pai barely acknowledged her now seated appearance as he crossed into the opening of the stairs.

The only thing that had changed from the desolate worship area was more threatening clouds and the ladies' positions. Clouds hung in the background, completely covering the once barely visible mountain.

Perhaps it was only the lingering grasp on his power or maybe the backlash of the heat he stored into the stairs, whatever the reason, Xien Tsu could feel heat clinging to hisself. Not the best condition for a fight at all.

Men tended to be sloppy in heat. They tended to become tired and faint easily as well.

Sweat began to form around Desdemona's face as she too began to feel the wrath of Pai. "What have you done Chin man?"

Leering back at the geisha, he replied "I gave our enemies a reason to meet us. Now shut up woman and prepare to fight."

As if he was the new Pythia of Apollo's domain, Tsu's prediction of the oncoming attack proved correct. Together the band of misfits cleared the enclosed area of the stairwell and gasped for fresh air to feed to their lungs.

Hanging limply from Kwanio's side was the fire starter and by the white man's side was the traitorous Atlantian.

"This is where they went"

Pulling an arrow from her hand, Lina let loose her own fury with a spectacular display if pyrotechnics. Screeching arrows took out chunks of rock and loose etchings around the altar top. Debris and dust began to cover each side's view. Ghostly images of enemies drifted in the smoky haze, one couldn't see the enemy come until they were right on top of each other.

Or until the blaze of an arrow cut throw the mist in a heated strike, but then it was too late.

Seeing the blazes part through the mist was like a religious experience for Desdemona. She, who been raised Greek with stories of Apollo's and Artimis's far-shooting wrath. Once, as a simple innocent girl she ran to the gods, asking them to save her. Once, as an innocent girl, she would have run from the god's obvious anger.

But she wasn't a girl child any longer. And such thoughts of innocence and weakness belonged only to the Chin girl now.

Bracing her feet in, she calmed her breath and lowered her arms to her side, appearing like a limp puppet. Soon a wave crept forth from her hands, slowly it carved a path through the mist, and it began to deteriorate the carpet lining the altar way. Sweat began to drip from her brow as she pumped yet more power into her deadly wave.

Elena felt it first; it would be her luck to have yet another problem occur to her health. She saw the dust and debris part like a curtain and then her stomach felt a twinge. It was as if someone suddenly punched her in the gut. Surprisingly, the wave made slow progress but her stomach heaved as if the flu was at its peak. Sweat and pain became her companions, as she heaved out the remains of a meal that feed her days ago.

Seeing Elena heave and retch caused Lina to redirect her arrows to the beginning of the wave. This time however, it was personal. Still flying blind, she let loose her own arsenal, causing them to burst on contact. These arrows didn't just explode into bits of fire, easily burning and thus exploding the wood. These arrows burst into tinier arrows that bored into anything they found, they cut through timbers, stone and flesh. She was pissed, and the arrows were just the extension of her anger.

Not waiting for the arrows to land the hearty Egyptian dropped his prisoner and went for the first thing he could find. Grabbing the heavy metal of the candle brazen, Kwanio began to swing the brass like a club. Many a times has he fought marauders trying to steal his camels, trying to rape his wife, or steal his children. And many a time they fell before the strength of his strike.

Grunting, Pai took up the challenge from the club barer. The sharp metallic sword sang as he released it from its prison of a sheath. Too many times has the general heard this noise, times a thousand at least, filled with screaming and grunting from his own men as he engaged the enemy.

Arrows rained past him as he stepped forward. He neither cared nor expected much from this outcome, but the other man came upon him with frenzy. The candleholder kept the Chin man at a distance as it was used in swinging frontal attacks. Dancing together the way two fighters prepared for death as the men engaged the other. Pai raised his sword and stopped the crushing blow meant for his unconcerned face. His katana perfect, he sidestepped under the other's guard, moving the holder away from any critical future blows.

Not to be outdone, Kwanio raised his meaty hand away from the defenseless metal stick and crashed a blow against his assailant's cheekbone. Blood and spit mixed together as the Chin man fell to the ground. Shocked and almost unconscious from the force of the blow.

Believing his enemy to be down for the count Kwanio made way for the wave's origin, the Greek.

She in the meantime was busy deflecting arrows. Twice they bored into her skin, leaving painful gashes in her arm and abdominal. Abandoning the mighty wave, Desdemona brought her hands to block her face from the arrows might, as well as forcing her power to collect into an instant shield. Nothing this side of the Styx has been able to come through so far, and she wasn't going to let some glowing mockery of her lord stop it now.

But Pai wasn't down yet. As the Egyptian man's foot crossed over his prone form he grabbed at the ankle and pinched the tendon. Number one rule in fighting: Play dirty.

Down the colossus of muscle came. Rolling out of the way Tsu jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword in one movement. Feeling his face already swelling Tsu mentally became more focused. This was a true battle, something his blood and training screamed for in his heart.

Glancing at the melee at large, Nef saw her opening. The singer, the reason for this atrocious journey and rampaging war, was lying on the altar being guarded by some stupid priest in a robe. Glancing back at her own stupid priest, she smiled. Yes, her priest could transport them places and cure the dead, but those were all defensive powers. Nothing in her own clerical accounts told her that this one would be any different. Dodging out of the way of the meaty gladiators as they both traded blows to curl teeth, she snuck around towards the altar. As she silently sidestepped the raining arrows, she pulled out her own weapon's and a priestess's best friend. Twin daggers were slipped from her sheaths near her ankles. Bracing the cold steel against her wrists, Nef smiled.

Frustrated that her arrows weren't having as much success Lina moved her own hands in flying her missiles, using her finger movements as directions to the gliding grenades. So focused was her assault and dips and weaves through the air, she did not notice the stir of the prisoners.

Zan was awake. Confused but still awake. He barely acknowledged the two fighters, bleeding and bruised from each other's strikes, nor a creeping priestess, but he did notice his Greek female being attacked by the women in front of him. It was bad enough that this whore was attacking his whore, but the fact that she was swinging bright-lighted noisemakers was enough for his splitting headache to be the death of him. Stumbling to his feet, he launched himself at the girl, toppling both of them onto the red stone.

Kwanio's eyes burned with hatred as he engaged his enemy yet again with his candleholder. This time however, he wanted to smash the man's skull flat. He heaved the holder near his shoulder and began to bring it down. With sickening speed the metal mallet descended close to Pai's face. Dodging away from the bone crusher, the Chin man slipped on the tattered remains of a carpet, falling to the ground. Seeing his advantage, Kwanio continued to throw the holder down, needing to hear the sickening crash of broken bone and crushed sinews.

Lina, sprawled and jumbled with the Babylonian, twisted to meet her attacker face on. The man was bruised and bleeding from other exertions, but still capable of catching her off guard. This is something she didn't want. She didn't want a man on top of her, she didn't want Bevin to be taken and she certainly didn't want Elena to be sick. And as far as she could tell it was all this man's fault right now.

Focusing her power, Lina, the forgotten Greek smiled a wicked smile she learned from her Celtic friend. Slowly she reached for the man's chest, pressing her hands against his straining muscles. Focusing her strength she formed as many arrows as she could.

The resulting explosion propelled Zan to fall feet away from her sprawled form, his chest a big red gash that pulsed with blood.

"Shit!"

What else does one say when they see their enemy fly through the air because of some tart's explosion? True, Nevat saw hundreds of things in the past day that really should only belong to the gods, but this was just insane! A man shouldn't fly through the sky with his chest emitting smoke from some fire. He tried to push his way through to the arrogant SOB, but the priest's arms tightly wrapped around his prone arms.

"Shit!"

What else was one supposed to say when your chest is bleeding out your life? When you can almost see your white ribs poking through torn bloody patches of skin?

Lord Kazan Rishka felt the immense pain come sweeping in from the torn flesh. He could feel the sting of tears form in the corner of his eyes and he could hear the mocking tone of his father and of his "master" laughing at his unworthiness, laughing at his f attempt to hurt a woman who most likely killed him, he could hear his father give him a key to the harem, saying that he wasn't worth having access to the man's quarters.

And he could feel Shamash's fire spilling through his blood, warming his anger and engulfing the pain.

Screaming a challenge to the whore before him, he began to let loose his fury. Flames sprung from his fingers, searching feeding sucking all the air away from the people's breath. They were all hot due to the Chin's man's stair escapade, but now they could feel their skin burn from the wrath. They could see the red flames course through the once peaceful altar scene.

Lina could barley turn her hands up before the flames pounced onto her toga, eating away the flesh and the rough fibers. Screaming, she started to run.

With the priest distracted by the new events, Hydro had access to his own hands, and thus could position his own power. Glancing back at Zan, this Atlantian knew it was over, the man was completely gone from whatever ideas he once had. He was facing demons where there was only open heated air. The screaming woman was about to push herself of the crumbling top of this palace and altar, until a water bomb descended on top of her. Squashed flat by the power, Lina once again ended up on the floor. But this time she was wet, and not on fire.

After nodding to her soaked form, Nevat glanced over to his own female companion. Desdemona was almost in the same boat as Zan, maddened by the anger of the day and living through her own demons of inadequacy. He flung another bomb, making sure to cool her pretty little head before she crossed that invisible line of sanity that too many people here laughed at.

Elena however, didn't notice the water bomb descend on top of the young archer; she was too busy being angry with the fire starter who caused the girl to scream so.

Taking a deep breath she whispered "Here we go again." Plunging into her consciousness she gained sight of the threads forming inside her head. Seeing the charred and taunt remains of her life she laughed at the absurdity of today's nonsense. Here she was rescuing some odd girl against some odd people in some odd backward world so unlike her own. But whatever the Lord wanted of her couldn't be as bad as she could be doing.

With one set of eyes gleaming at the crazy Babylonian in front of her, and another set focused on the mental image of binding threads, she cast out her power and reached for the firestarter. Like a trained fisherman, she caught hold of his consciousness and started dragging the tiny thread taunt in her hands. After tying it securely to her own mind, she crossed the link.

The memories that flowed past her were interesting ones indeed. She saw the burning of Lina, and she saw Lina's own trick that caused the anger to swell in this pig's belly. She could see the allure of another Greek woman, the commanding need to share love with her and finally Elena was inside that man's head.

Quickly she ran through the dark haze that was his consciousness, the darkness feed his power and heated his anger as images of past injustices and cruel lessons flashed through the "sky" of the Babylonians mind's eye.

Dismissing these notions she entered his eyes, causing complete screw up and reversal to occur.

She didn't see thing like other people, her colors were switched and if she wanted too, she could tamper with the focus power of the eyes as well as the depth perception. The resulting blow made the already fragile mind of Zan go into a haywire and jerky fashion.

Sky became ground, altar became mountain, enemy became friend, and friend became candleholder.

Not to mention the memories of both began to mix. Issues of being the slave in a rich decorated Middle Eastern palace to that of the slave in the hot sun haling pillars of stone. One minute Zan was laying in the arms of the lover Yoesp, the next Elena was fucking the closest available body. Punishment for late delivery on a stone carving or the punishment of a wrong answer caused both souls to cry out as a whip, as knife, as a hot iron descended upon them.

Anger becomes depression, depression becomes hatred, hatred becomes love, love becomes forgiveness, it all became an emotional roller coaster that the unprepared Zan couldn't control. On the outside of this inner turmoil, his body began to convulse and flail like a possessed puppet in a angry child's hands. His arms whipped around his body, his legs sprawled on the floor and tried to high jump. Spittle began to form on his lower lip. And his eyes rolled helplessly in their sockets not knowing what to look at.

Iole just watched in a panic as the resulting turmoil played out in front of her. Her archer was down, too afraid to stand up let alone she be burnt again. Her muscle man was out fighting and dodging a sharpened blade, holding his own with a piece of metal support. And her other two were somewhere doing nothing important. One was laying on the ground dead as a doornail and the other was running off.

Looking over the assailants and the allies, her eyes began to un-focus. Pictures and future outcomes began to play across her vision, mixing and collecting within the fibers of time. She saw Kwanio fighting Pai, killing Pai, being killed by Pai. She saw her Egyptian female attack Nur, saw her slipping on rocks, seeing her falling to her doom, saw her being turned inside. She saw Elena stumbling around, she watched as Elena joined with the Babylonian, seeing as she plunged a blade down his throat.

Images whirled in her head, demanding her to act, demanding her to move and decide, which fate, which outcome, which destiny she would have to face.

The chaotic jumble whirling her vision like a pebble in a typhoon, the falling sensation and utter uncontrollability that forced her to face the future.

That is, until she saw a new face.

Suddenly, the chaotic mesh stopped, a sickening halt almost made her loose her stomach contents.

One single girl, dark black hair and slanted eyes with a radiance that made Apollo seem dark and shadowed.

This discovery went unnoticed by the demigod on the other side of the spectrum. Nur's own gaze crossed over the faces of the battle contenders.

Nef in the mean time was crossing behind him, after scaling around the altar. She steadied her breath and was about to throw one of her first daggers when the priest turned on her. He changed the distance between their beings and grabbed her wrist. Nef starred up into his eyes, couldn't move her eyes away from his gaze, dying in his eyes in a fit of torture she has never experienced before. As if she was looking to her own future and through his eyes back at her own weakness. A double blow that made her weak and angry at the same time.

At the same time Shinrei also had double emotions. She never use her power save for a calming session at the end of the day, of placing a mental feeling of happiness that permeated in the kitchen or that of a peaceful experience when your heart was about to split from your chest.

But never anything that would force angry fighters to throw down their weapons, and certainly nothing of this scale.

Forcing herself to be calmed, she mentally formed a samisen in her mind's eye. Playing the instrument always calmed her down with his mourning notes, and thus it became her harbinger of her power. Slowly her heart rate relaxed as she concentrated on her goal, stopping individuals from fighting and letting others continue.

With pain staking slowness and carefulness, the prostitute's daughter began to mentally picture her friends and their attackers, bringing into a focus the ones she knew the most and their own personal symbols she has grouped them with. She saw her Chinese brethren Xien Tsu fighting the black man, concentrating she began to form a protective bubble around his sword, her symbol for the warrior.

He, in the meantime, grabbled his way out of the present danger. He kicked the black man landing his squarely in the knee. The few seconds brought him enough time to bounce back onto his feet.

Suminto Shinrei again drew on her power and searched for her other companion. The man scared her and flattered her at the same time, definitely somebody to fear. Lord Kazan. He was on the ground, crawling and sprawling and grabbing his head in pain. His convulsions knocking into anything he could ran into, a last minute detailed item of the old holy sanctuary, a stray priest, and his own feet.

His symbol, the intense glare he cast on anybody within eye sight always frightened her, the way he eyes suggested so much more yet held a trace of insane fire lighting a deeper passion and emotion. Soon, he too began to be incased in another protective bubble.

She looked once again over the closest combatants for more allies, but Desdemona was too far out of it being confronted by Nevat. The were not in danger and thus didn't need any spell to help them out.

She didn't see the Kelt anywhere, and that worried her. Thus his symbol, Angus the dog she has found sanctuary and safety behind, was erased from her preparing memory. It was too late to worry about him; she had work to do and allies to help out.

Time to grow a backbone and prove her worth.

Unlike Desdemona's power, her's wasn't a flashy wave, nor was it a slow creeping one. One minute she paused and strummed her mental samisun's chords, and the next the mental ears of her attackers heard her song.

Instantly their movements stopped, all the rage and adrenaline stopped pumping into their veins. It was as if they had just woken up. The archer, the black man and the priest, each caught in their peace time places.

Lina just fainted in welcome relief seeing her friends Lorn and Cailope back again.

Kwanio began to smile, and was even about to sing a hearty song of the plains of his homeland when Pai slashed his ribs with the tip of his blade, leaving a rapidly growing stain of blood across his chest.

Iole was making her way over towards Shinrei, needing to finish her job and hand it all over when she felt the strangest part of her father's body waken. It was as if a candle flared back into life after a gust of wind. She was so excited to follow this little spark, in case it did lead her back to her father, that she didn't feel the flarings of a much more real fire start to attack her father's priestly robes.

Alister was considered one of the best warriors in his isle. Even without his inhuman strength and ability he was a champion within his own right. Part of that came from being smart, he knew how to fight, on a certain terrain, and when to use surprise against your prepared enemy. And thus, using his skills this Kelto warrior managed to climb the crumbling pile of the wrecked balcony and even follow somewhat behind his "master's" enemies.

The other part of his greatness as a warrior came from not being a fool. He always considered himself a devout man, praying to the gods when times were tough, praying to the gods in submission after succeeding in one action or another, he even prayed to the gods when his own mortal mind failed him.

Seeing the old man burst into flames, seeing the Lordling Zan flail and whip around in such a frenzy, seeing some of the women on both sides lying on the ground dead, seeing Pai and the giant black man fight with frightening cruelty was more then he expected.

His legs convulsed underneath him as he sank to the ground. Normally he would be right at his blood brother's side, but something about this entire chaos was amiss. Something was wrong; something was much bigger then himself and all the other would be gods. Alister grabbed the hilt of his hunting knife out of its sheath by his belt loop. Bringing it towards his wrist he whispered, "Sprits of this forgotten realm, hear me. Spirits of nature and the underworld hear this poor Celtic man's voice and answer my request, show me what is to be done."

It could have been just a slight clearing in the dusty clouds, it could have been Kwanio's answering call to the shock that Shinrei and Tsu gave him, or it could have been the nature sprits long forgotten in the realm that answered the Celt's plea.

Whatever the reason, the skies cleared and a tiny fissure started to appear on this natural floor of the temple, it jumped and cracked normally enough, but its starting position was at Alister's knees and ended close by the altar top where the prone female Celt laid. The dusty skies were lit from the background with its own light, enough to rival the sun, and it appeared as if the girl was holy visage, something that the likes of other hero's soon to be born will see again. And the ground shook, as a final confirmation of his goal

Witnessing the message with all his senses, Alister plunged the blade into his soft flesh, paying the bloodless ones the debt he owed them.

After the deed was done, Alister began to make his way towards his "master's" side. Creeping away from the god sent crack; he smiled as he approached. Atlantis was a cursed place after all; it was good to know he was not abandoned just yet.

Nef herself appeared to be abandoned by her people, by herself, and by her soul. Both seem vacant in the clutches of Nur's hands. He still held her, showing her own weakness and failures, playing them back at her. Her cousins death, her decisions on the deaths of plenty of prisoners, of her failure to bear children, of her own greediness that nearly caused her father to die in the alley ways.

However, relief soon followed when Alister put her of her misery. After her form slumped towards the ground, he resheathed his blade that he used to bash her head. Nur's eyes greedily looked for Alister's, but the religious Kelt wouldn't meet his gaze. Instead, he began tying the Egyptian woman up and placed her to the sides of Pai's own fight.

He would have joined his blood brother in defeating the Egyptian man, but Nur grabbed his arm.

"Guard the prisoner."

Alister hid his satisfaction.

Shinrei couldn't hide hers, couldn't even feel a satisfied feeling within herself. All she could see was destruction caused by her, an unfair advance that may cause two men their lives.

The big Egyptian man was bleeding profusely, his cloth shirt already dripping blood on the stone altar way, and the older man was burning to death.

Quickly she canceled the concealed happiness she caused her enemies; she quickly burst the bubbles and unwrapped the spell she wove so well. Instantly the samisun on her mind stopped its mourning peels, and just as fast the victims grew aware of their situation, of their pain.

Howling like a demon the black man clutched his stomach, murder and pain filled his eyes.

But the priest's voice was even more terrible, a sound that no mortal or immortal could truly give life too, a sound that made her hair stand on end complete with a smell of burning flesh that made her eyes sting.

She didn't mean too, she didn't mean to send these people straight to the immortals, she was only following instructions, he said they would go to sleep and she would be able to leave and go back home. To her homely kitchen, to her protective Angus.

She wasn't meant to hear their screams, wasn't meant to be able to touch their blood. He said she would just be sending them to a happier place.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to bury her ears with her hands, but she couldn't keep the other feelings out. She was an empath after all. And because of that she could feel the burns run over her own body, could feel the blood gush out of her body.

True this was only a tiny diluted pain, but it wasn't hers, and she didn't even have the pain killer adrenaline or anger to mask the effects. She could feel and hear and see the pain. Her own bubble used to separate herself from the others wasn't working anymore, as if that archer she took down pierced her as Shinrei pierced the archer's mind.

It wasn't supposed to be this way and she was afraid and hurt and terribly, terribly sorry.

She could feel the big man collapse from the pain trying to hold the blood and guts inside his stomach.

Looking up, she could see the flaming man come closer to her. He tripped and was too old and too frail and too hurt to move any more, just cried as the flames seared his flesh, ate his clothes and stole his life.

Crying, she moved closer.

She caused this; she had to see it through to the end. It was her punishment, it was her penance.

She could feel the heat of the flames, could see them hungrily trying to eat off anything too close. Shinrei gazed down into the face of the old man, his wrinkles turning red and orange and dirty brown as the revealed the touch of the sun, his eyes glassy with tears and pain. Her own pain grew as she got closer to him. She could feel the nerve endings scream in her mind, could feel the feet curl up and try desperately to stop the hurt, her fingers curled and spasmed.

So intense was her crying, and the pain and the mental anguish, she didn't see the hand jump out and grab her head. Was only surprised when her own hand jumped out and reached for the old man's head. So great was the empathic link, that she began to mimic the man's words.

"Great Apollo shall will it to be so"

And then it hit her.

A jolt slammed into her skull, she could feel voices and thoughts ramming into to her scared conscience. Designs and powers erupted her mind's order as she fell into a timeless abyss of chaos and thoughts foreign to her own. Faces and dreams, loves and death songs echoed in her mind. Her eyes seeing places of long past, the temple, the original, and the initial premonition. Thousands of lives and thoughts, beings she knew not of before, screaming their pasts into her brain. A language, some customs and a god she never knew before filled her to the brim. A turret of females voicing their opinions all at once. Her eyes glowed with pain. She couldn't stop the memories, the tales of love and betrayal, of life and its antithesis, over and over again, with a new face, a new feature, a new pattern. She clutched her head in the agony, the sudden spasm to her nerves was far more than she could handle. Old ways were lost while new ones demanded total control. Something broke, something was built, muscles she never moved, flexed, nerve ends reformed and connected with forgotten others. Cells expanded and multiplied. Nucleuses evolved.

Suminto Shinrei was born again under the guiding light of Apollo, her god.

She heard the confessions; she felt the truth and she knew what was at stake. Shinrei remembered the horror she felt when she learned of her talent, how she had helped out her mother's business before some men became too wary and her mother became too arrogant. Shinrei remembered Nur coming to her, promising her good things, better then the garbaged streets she came from. And she remembered when Desdemona first came to their little gathering, their little home.

She was bright eyed and as worried as Shinrei was. Desdemona was angry with her brother, was angry at her misuse, but she was still a young girl not ready for the power the world was lying at he feet. She was still wholesome and pure.

Then Nur showed her more, showed her the power she could wield with her pinky. The first outing Desdemona came back shocked and concerned with her soul, praying endlessly to her gods and crying to her mother's sprit. But days went by and more outings came, and soon the girl child was looking for more, soon she was expecting them. Her logic was twisted and her thinking was just a big lie by Nur, work harder Desdemona and your brother will beg to have you back. A little more umuff Desdemona and your people will hand you a throne. More power Plague and towns will crumple before you.

Shinrei remembered the change, how one moment she was a friend, a companion, and the next she was a demigod and an aristocrat.

And it started with a lie.

"They will just go to sleep Shinrei. You won't hurt any of them."

And yet, the burnt out corpse of Iole's father laid before her. A husk of flesh, a leftover of a promise, a prominent betrayal.

And then a new thought entered her mind. A good friend who's own life just ended when this story began, Iole. The last true Pythia of this world.

Memories of picnicking with her father, of talking late into the hours with him were disrupted with her own death images. A plunging knife into her back, a scarlet trail, and her father's own death sentence.

Mentally Shinrei nodded and took control of her prone form once more.

"Goodnight Papa," she said while her hand delicately closed the old priest eyes. He was the biggest victim of Nur's plan. The innocent that was a destroyed by his handy work. Pythia's are known to hurt themselves performing the sacred rights, but Iole's father was struck in incomparable circumstances that ended in his insanity.

How many more victims must there be?

Glancing around at the still angry fight scenes, Shinrei and her host of priestess, shuddered.

Using the same technique as before, Shinrei started forming bubbles with her samisen, playing out a long chord. This time not to let the other's slumber in a peaceful comatose, rather in a bubble of connection. With the touch granted by Iole, she was now more powerful. Not only was she an empath and a Pythia in her own right, she also possessed the powers granted to Pythos, the man. She could teleport.

Mentally she called to her allies, forming their symbols and encasing them in their mutual bubbles. She looked over at the Greek's first ally. The young archer was still out cold from Shinrei's first spell. Forming the image of a bright bow and arrow, Shinrei formed the mental construction over the sleeping girl.

She looked once more for the Celtic man with the blue tattoos. His mental image of Angus already formed in her mind. He was a good kind man, somebody who reminded her too much of the essence of security. Only she couldn't get a good lock on him. He was too close to Nur for her liking. And even though these protective barriers were her constructs, she didn't trust the newness of this talent to only take Alister. Nur might be caught up in the spell for being too close to Alister. She promised herself she would come back for him when she moved on to her next target.

Alister however, was just close enough to his. Raising the same blade that fed his gods he plunged the iron into the back of his master. Dark blood splashed into his face as Nur turned to see the betrayal.

The great master knew of the wavering aspect of Alister thoughts, but never believed that the honorable man would be so foolhardy. Alister was done bending knee to this phony druid, done holding his tongue while innocent men where made examples within inches of the their lives, done watching as his kin were used as play things only to be destroyed later on.

He cracked his skull against the brain of the dictator, forcing Nur to feel even more pain and even more hatred. Dazed and confused, he couldn't get a clear lock on the Celt as Alister brought out his broadsword and heaved it into Nur's leg.

Anger and pain was something Nur understood. Was something he knew well. Was something he knew how to give as well as receive.

Flushing with rage and power, Nur catapulted Alister out of the way, He would have done more, save his mind was distracted with a disappearing Egyptian women to his side. One moment she was there, the next she was next to Shinrei.

Distracted enough to forget the Celt.

Turning Shinrei looked for Pai, her kin and handsome protector. She knew in her heart that he was a good man deep down. Forget about the scars upon his soul and the angry tone in his voice, he was a deeply loyal and caring man.

Unfortunately he was also deeply engulfed in a battle. Kwanio, the Egyptian man who killed the innocents in the market place so far ago, troubled Shinrei. He was a troubled man inside, confused and prone to violence now.

He reminded her of Desdemona.

She was in the arms of the Atlantian, also too close to another to be safely grabbed.

Shinrei was brought out of her mental spell when she felt the quake. Huge pieces of the ground were lifting and falling, forming pillars of rock and crypts of dirt. On top such column stood the Egyptian man. His blood soaked shirt was dripping blood onto his construction, anger seizing him in such a passion that he turned the entire place into a craterous deathbed.

Images flashed before Shinrei's eyes, lava, hot and strong were about to erupt from the mountain. The quite old mountain was feeding off of Kwanio's anger and power. Voice filled her head; spells came unasked for as the grand old Pythia's offered their advice.

Glancing once more around the den of destruction she saw her Celtic friend grab for the unconscious form of Bevin. Holding her close to his body, he began to slide away from the danger, down the angry earth. The Pythia's stopped advising and now demanded. Now! Go! She looked for Elena, only to see her too being dragged, her captor was the fire starter, his body still shook with anger and tiny flames flowed from his ruined tatters of a robe. His eyes however, lost their crazed appearance, and she could have sworn that they were now black with white pupils instead of the reverse. Screams filled her mind, and the spell was on her tongue before she could look for her last ally. Pai... she couldn't see him.

The image of heated air, and earthen constructs was the last that Shinrei saw before she blinked out of Atlantis.

Nevat saw destruction of his isle's most sacred sight. The shrine was being desecrated and the mountain was showing its anger. Lava began to pour out of its mouth, smothering everything in its path, searching and destroying things in its path. Quickly, Nevat lead Desdemona closer to the one man he hoped could get him out of this. Nur.

Nur was on the ground, his blood still seeping from the wounds that Alister gave him. He knew what had occurred, could feel the betrayal stack up against him. Gathering his allies, he rethought his plan. Nevat, Desdemona, and Kazan were stumbling closer, only Kazan brought with them a prisoner to use.

Looking back he saw Pai still engaging the earthmover. The man was too good to be a use yet. Nobody with an ounce of honesty was allowed to join him. At least not until he found their weakness.

Sweeping up Pai with the others, Nur left. All the while thinking of a very special thing to do to a certain Celtic dog.

Kwanio in all his fury in all his anger felt the rushing of the mountain answer his anger. He could feel the power of the Earth surge into every corner of his mind demanding, needing and requiring every ounce of control from him. He didn't even see Pai after her lowered him into the chasm. Didn't even see when his enemy left him to battle the volcano.

Alone

With only the images of Atlantis's death staring into his power mad eyes.

Beast shook out his fur and set the tablet down. The professor was already asleep, his mind going where ever it wanders to when he is dreaming.

Delicately, he tiptoed over to the old coffeepot Jean put on hours ago. The cold smells of coffee the only thing reminding himself of his own timeline.


	12. Merry Ways

I would like to tell you that we all went our merry ways and were left alone by destiny.

But nothing about the Atlantis Attack was merry. Thousands died that night. For those who weren't caught up in the city had a fleeting chance of getting on a boat and heading out to the unknown cruel world. Most, however, died from the sheer rapidness of the tidal waves and the lava flows. Some were just too greedy and attempted to grab some other possession. Two seconds later they died.

Those who were caught up in Nur's spell in the city died eerily. Standing still wherever Nur left them. Like statues that waited as the creeping lava touched their feet, engulfed their chests and melted their flesh. All the while screaming inside their minds, desperate to move their corrupted bodies, watching as death ate them.

Shinrei, the girl child I had disregarded as nothing, still can tell you about their last emotions. Her empathic ability keeping her with the dead souls trapped in their, her and Nur's, spell. Visions and mental screams kept her awake for far too long after the tragedy.

Bloated bodied washed up on all sorts of shores the next couple of weeks and months. Sheer volumes flushed across the seas, a stench of rot followed as seamen tried wading through the death. Eyes still open and silently still bodies of children; blue from the ocean and stiffened like the statues Nur made them into. Bodies were burned and bodies were buried. For months the people near the ocean kept watches on the beaches. Watching as the tide brought more corpses to the sand.

Alister and Bevin were lucky for such watches.

Waves crashed around the two of them as Alister fought for control. The sea laughed at him, dragging him down and forcing his lungs to explode. He needed to get his head up, and also the girl's.

For days now the two of them have been rolling around in the sea, desperate for a brief glance of land and a hope of food. After crawling down the side of the mountain Alister did his best to get a boat from the locals. Securing one, he quickly left Atlantis. In mere moments the lava started flowing but none of the town's people moved.

Sure, some mulled around looking for answers, some crawled on the ground from the injuries they had sustained from the Archer's attacks, but for the most part the spell Nur and Shinrei used was firmly fixed in the populous' consciousness.

Outside of the terror that crossed their eyes, none strayed from the command of Nur's. They stayed put and watched as their death stalked them. Yes this non-chalant attitude made it easier for Alister to grab a boat. Made it that much easier to run through the crowd and that much easier for a take off, for no other boats would mass together and make a jumble. But Alister was much better prepared to fight off a man trying to jump in his boat than the watch as the populous calmly accepted their fate and let the lava reach their fragile skin.

Even though that image was days ago and the boat had since capsized, that image still haunted Alister.

A warrior, a man died with valor, a sword in hand and a will to be broken. A man didn't die from some spell, didn't die from a broken heart, and certainly should never be forced to die without control of his limbs. It was wrong, sick and twisted as his former master's heart.

Choking on some more water Alister still fought with the waves. He would gladly die here in this sea fighting for his life then to live through one second of Nur's torture program.

However, his fickle gods still had use of him. For the next moment instead of breathing in water, Alister began to breathe in the scratchy particles of sand.

Opening his eyes, the half-dead Celt began to assess the newness of the situation. After days on the choppy angry seas, he had no idea where he was, no idea how to stand and no idea of what to do next. His mind still drifted with the waves that poured over his body, and the still unconscious girl.

She, he had tied to his waist using the same rope that imprisoned her to Nur. Securely using the two nicely burned ropes to form a harness that has since saved the girl's hide from the ravages and unpredictability of the ocean's pulls. The girl also had woken up partially after their escape into the sea, however soon lapsed into another bout of unconsciousness after wearily fighting Alister off away from her.

Carefully, the starved man dragged the two of them away from the ocean, lurching and grunting from the effort. Checking to see if his sword made the effort, Alister smiled one last smile. Then, collapsing from the strain of keeping both of them alive, the brave Celtic warrior, defeater of wave and storm, betrayer of master, and blood brother to a Chin man worlds apart, fainted with relief.

It was probably a lot easier for a thief to scale the Great Pyramids, run from the guards, stop the booby traps, and battle the curses in order to reach the Pharaoh's gold then it was for the slave girl and lordling to unlock their jumbled memories. After Elena's initial attack and Zan's apparent lack of stability, the resulting confusion created a mess of emotions and chaotic whirl of memories. Save for the reminders that he was he and she was she, they had little or no recollection of their pasts. Memories littered the mental sky of the Babylonian. Forgotten tales of courtship and courting, of learning a vast number system and how to push a 10-ton stone up a steep hill without hurting tomorrow bounced around the air. A heavy sense of Deja Veu permeated the mind as the two souls tossed and looked at forgotten times.

Was he the one who grew up in the confines of aunts and mothers and sisters and concubines? Or was he the one who was taken away from the closeness of family after he learned to walk?

Was she the one whose nickname as a child was Whelp? Or was it Thimble?

Could he recall the first time he was smacked? The first time he was praised? Or the time s/he spilled perfume on the carpet after returning from their first hunt?

Could she remember the first time she caught a fish? The first time she was late for something? Or the time when s/he won the race only to be cheated out of first prize?

Did they want to remember?

Both souls looked over the collection of ideas, values and norms. They recalled the memories of hatred and abuse, of loss and disappointment. Did they want to return back to their old lives? Did they want to remember all that they had, the good and the bad and live their lives as they had?

Or could the possibly leave some of the memories on the floor, only to be pushed out of the system A.S.A.P. Or did they have to take those ones with them?

He argued for taking them. They made who they were. They were the secrets of the past and they created their selves. Yes life could be bad and yes life could push your face down in feces and make you eat it. But that made you you. Made you get up from that encounter and predicted your next move? Why be forced to take a step back when some part of you knows you went through this before. Would not having these memories face you to go through the process of humiliation again, or by having them can we change our actions the next time we are faced with the problem?

The woman nodded her head. 'This is true' she thought, for souls without lips to convene don't talk, only think.

'But what of those memories that pushed us over the edge?' Both parties remember only a fragment of their old lives, pieces and recollections of life before there was two in one. She remembers being hurt. She remembers hating being here, remembers feeling sick and wanting to curl up in fetal position and that nobody would care if she died.

He pushed the pile of memories away; moving them as if they were just leaves on the ground and not the keys to their existence. He pulled her close and gave her a hug.

'I would care' he though back. Sending her love and happy thoughts that the both shared. Very little happiness were in total between them, so early on they decided to share both. A mother's touch on you cheek, a father brushing his lips on your hair after you did a good thing. The sun warming you back and the wind teasing you hair, and a comfortable hold that you could melt in.

Smiling she felt a return of an evil streak. 'You would care, even if I did this?' lifting up a memory she showed him an image of beating a man. Both were immersed with the feeling of righteousness, of revenge of unsullied hatred. Blood ran down her/his hands as the man underneath their blows cringed and battled back.

Both souls sat there watching the images play out. Fire and water came crashing, blows came thundering and pain and hatred mixed. And then a crash.

After that image occurred, the female began to grab another next to it. 'That crash reminds me of this one' She picked up another image, this one filled with a girl, causing a big crash to smack into their stomach. A thousand burns crossed and razed their flesh as the pain filled their senses.

The female began to make a timeline of events. This was definitely one person's. The hands were similar, the rage and even the booms.

He looked at that image, and slowly while she wasn't looking, more images fell into his pile. He was slowly remembering his own life. A man who was inferior to him called him and made him join this place, a fire so deep and a passion so great that it had made him loose control before.

Looking over at the pile before him, he began to remember more. To his eyes, his memories began to glow, to signal themselves out, saying 'here we are, take us back now.'

These were his, were his hatreds and dislikes, his humiliation and smug retorts back. Did he want them back? Or would he stick with his own past comments about taking a step back and being handicapped. He knew his name and he knew some parts of his past. And those clues were enough for him too not to touch any screaming memories.

His hand still laid by his side, not moving and therefore not taking in all those that called for him, all those memories that marked them as his.

'Would you still like me if these were mine?'

Somehow her answer was something he needed more then any memory. Or maybe, because of those thoughts and those memories of inadequacy and non-committal love from his parents and aunts and followers and servants were why he was worried about her answer.

He thought he knew her answer. They were one in the same now, bounded by the memory jumble and the seconds of oneness that even lovers couldn't find. But now that he had separated himself from her, from her memories, from their joint thoughts, would it still be the same?

'Of course'

'Then why do we have to separate them? You take that half, and I'll take this half' He separated the piles evenly down the middle, pushing one pile closer to her, shouldering some responsibility onto her, some frightening repulsive thoughts onto her clean and pure spirit. "That way, we both win. I'll remember the stuff I want, and you'll have a chance not to remember the ones that you don't want.'

'Works for me'

And slowly she piled her memories like cards, pushing them all together and positioning them in a nice easy to carry way. Not chronologically, and not alphabetically. She had images of work and images of play; some of love some of hate and some of complete weirdness that confused her.

Looking back over the sky she saw a thread that trailed a while off.

'This is a thread, we, you use it to travel through people's heads. Messing up their focus.'

'Yes I remember now. Kwanio's thread's are charred, and mine are taunt.'

'Yes... You will come back?"

Maybe it was the fact that she had his memories of abuse as a child, of being locked into closets and forgotten, of never having his father's approval. Or maybe she had some of her own mixed in, remembering the loneliness when Yoesp left, of leaving her parents as a child and moving into the children's quarters. Whatever the memory and who's ever it truly belonged too, she just smiled and leaned in closer.

'Allah has given us a great gift. We can go out and become new and better people then the sad miserable people we both know we were. But who, other then you, would understand this gift?'

Smiling, the female left the Babylonian's head and reentered her own.

The woman looked down at the shapes lying by the sea's side. Sighing to herself she started making her way through the rocky terrain to them. Less and less bodies were making their way here, and soon her watch and her pay source will be terminated.

But that also means that whatever transgression these people did against the Lord of Storms was finally over. Their dead would finally be burned and the souls would finally leave this forgotten cost line.

Walking silently near the bodies, Brynhild chastised herself. Here she was angry that this would most likely be her last day working, and these poor souls are dead. Thousands of them were found on the costs for months now. All with strange markings and strange outfits, all blue and cold and dead. Smelly and stinky as the sea, yet her people still cared for them. Still gave them the rights of their own dead and even paid the Watchers money and food to take care of the souls. Getting a priest and burning their rotting flesh wasn't the best of jobs but it was still better then most of the ones she could be doing.

Still it was a ghastly job. One she should be happy of giving up, save her stomach still pinched her tightly demanding more then she could. And as soon as this job was over... only Frey knew the next time she would see a feast.

With her toe the woman pushed the girl body. She wasn't as blue as the others Brynhild found, and she could have just been an accident on the high seas and not a victim of Odin's wrath. But when no response came, Brynhild positioned the girl on her shoulders and began the long haul.

Bracing for the weight, the lone Norse female began the trek up to where the other corpses lay.

Wood was needed for burning. But there was no sense to burn unnecessary pile amounts of wood for dead that kept coming daily. So, with the people's urging the Watchers began to pile the dead in huge fire pits, intermingling some wood layer with a body layer. Also spreading as much pine needles to lock in the stench of rot and dead sea. Then with every two weeks or so they could have a proper burning without using half of the wood for each separate corpse.

Only a few lay on the new layer, and only ash lay underneath them.

The girl rounded out the next burning number to 5.

With the man, the good and proper number of 6 will be used, and those souls will be free to roam Hel's world.

After dumping the corpse into the shallow fire pit, Brynhild rubbed her shoulders. She has been doing this too long and her mind was starting to play tricks on her.

She could have sworn she felt a heart beat.

But that was a foolish hope. For months she prayed to the gods for a live one. For months she prayed that the child no older than 7 to breathe while she began her journey to the fire pit, for the expecting mother to gasp out in fear, for the young couple entwined together to blink their eyes open.

But with each corpse the truth bitterly followed. They were all dead, the young and old, pure and mangled. All were sacrificed and all were gone forever. The only thing she could do was pray that she wouldn't be next in Odin's scarifies.

Reaching the man's position, she once more administered her toe-touch technique.

Once again, no response.

Turning around, and looking at the distant fire pits and the wooded area, Brynhild tensed. Her eyes moved over the coarse coastline, filled with seaweed and stone. Noticing no one within eyesight, she let out her breath.

Closing her eyes she began to envision what she wanted; biceps the size of Thor's, legs like the trunk of Ygrsdrail, and back muscles that could rival any giants. Slowly her old form began to shimmer and strecth, as if in this frozen land you could see a heat mirage coalesce over her specific limbs.

Feeling her muscles expand and her limbs bulk up with newfound might, the red harried Norse female bent to pick up the body. Her hands surrounded the man's chest and she easily exerted enough strength to pick up the 190-pound man as if he was lighter then the female.

Quickly, she began her journey back near the fire pit. These easily grown muscles can go as fast as she made them. And she didn't want t be caught near any of the sharp rocks of the jagged coastline when her body finally reverted back.

Slowly, he began to open his eyes. Still seeing the world move around him, all the mighty Celt could do was groan and try wiggling into a more comfortable spot.

Screaming, Brynhild dropped her mighty muscles and her cargo in a split second.

Grunting, Alister once more came in contact with the ground. True he had a specialized healing gift that has gotten him out of most wounds, but after being attacked endlessly by his blood brother, blown off a balcony, having a few failed attempts of climbing back up said ruined balcony, thrown about like a doll by his former master and then having to survive a god-angered sea storm- he was a little tired.

And maybe more bruised then he has ever been in his entire life.

Wincing, Alister began to sit up. Massaging his jaw, that received most of the impact of his fall, the Celt mearly pledged never to follow any druid priest for as long as he lived.

Hearing panicked breathing, the swore man turned and saw a female of interesting coloring. Pale skin and dark blood red hair with a woolen and fur lined garb. Raising his eye and brow to the sky above, Alister just had to swear. Broken and beaten and his 'wonderful' gods leave him in the next biggest forsaken land they could think off - The land of the Vikings

It wasn't good enough to his gods that he spent his time in Atlantis, the most forsaken plot of earth a Celt could come to. Wasn't good enough that he was forever banished from his own homeland Eire. Nope. Now he must battle through or destroy the entire land of the heathen hordes of the Viking clans.

Spiting, Alister thanked his gods.

Shocked and confused and amazed Brynhild just stood there, feet from the living man, her mind whirling up a thousand questions and her heart thumping hard in her body. Where her prayers answered, somebody finally survived the sea's hatred? Or was she finally losing it all?

With the timing almost perfect one lone scream called out to the Norse female.

Once more her stomach jumped into her throat, as her ears picked up the frightened wail of yet another presence in this ghastly place. The dead roamed freely only when Hel came to claim her hoard on the eve of Ragnrok. Was today the day?

Were the lost bodies truly not a crime from above, instead a gathering of the hosts ready to storm the All-Father's prismatic gates? A strategic plot in order to move troops unnoticed to the Birfrost's Bridge without alerting the watchman and thus bringing the fight upon the heads of mere mortals?

Or where these two people signs from above that the bad is finally over?

Ignoring the red-haired heathen, the Celtic man carefully rushed past her. Alister did not nearly die in the ravages of a storm only to discover his cargo, his extra 120 pounds, was going to die from a rampaging bear or other heathen minions. Breath gasping and bruised ribs digging into his side; Alister cleared the path and was closing in on the fire pit.

Below in the pits of the dead laid his brethren, his one ticket outside the land of the Vikings. The singer.

Still she screamed, feeling the clammy hold of death touch her brow as she lay next to other corpses. Limbs and bones crowded the pit, eyes and mouths beseeching her to join them. Morgan, goddess of war, laughed at her. Abarta the fool of fools sneered down upon her as Donn, Lord of the dead sought her soul.

Moving her head she sought a way out but death still loomed over her. Already she could see her tomb's walls, the high embankments obscuring her view of the sky above, of the life outside her grave. Panicking, her throat started to close up and her stomach began to heave.

She wasn't afraid of death. She welcomed it into her life more then once. But she was afraid of the life afterwards.

The druids tell tales that the souls carry the burdens of this life into the next. That any past mistake is followed, like a stain on your shift, to the next life. You might come back disfigured or mentally unstable.

Before she might have felt that as a just punishment for her past actions, she might have felt that to be a dignified mar on her record for the gods. But now?

She has seen that there was life after her problems, a world outside her own realm of belief. And maybe if the gods believed that she was ready to handle that, then maybe they forgave her.

But seeing where she has woken up, seeing death's putrid mark was enough to see that the gods still hadn't forgiven her. They still demanded sacrifice.

They stilled blamed her for that night, probably blamed her more for what happened in that foreign courtyard. All those people, all those hatred and past injustices vomiting from the crowds ruined psyches and she couldn't save them, or her cousin.

Weakly she sat up in her tomb.

Bitter tears started forming in her eyes and her lower lipped began to tremble. She wanted to scream the unfairness, she wanted to pout and she wanted to screech and force her gods to listen.

But she was a Celt.

She was proud with her gifts, proud of her shorn boyish blond locks, and even proud of the original song that ruined her own hearing.

Biting her lip she forced it to bleed. Tasting the metallic blood in her mouth she gave her gods their sacrifice. And if they didn't enjoy the nourishment she spat at them, well then they could come to this very hole and drag her deaf and dirty body out of it.

Perhaps her gods did enjoy her tantrum, and laughed at her mortal whims, for as she sat Alister appeared.

With the weak sun finally showing its dull head through the mist as a background, the timing and the insane Celtic presence that Alister always seemed to force into his observer's view, he made quite a spectacle looking down at her.

A Celtic god with druidic tattoos flowing down his arms, his tainted hair affixed with knots and braids of his clan and the golden torque bounded around his neck.

All the young Celtic women could do was say "figures," before she fainted back into an unconscious state.

Seeing that his cargo was somewhat alive and somewhat safe in the pit of death, he turned back to his red-haired heathen.

It was never a good idea to turn your back on a Viking.

Even worse to be in their homelands, but he was going to deal with the first problem at hand.

Reaching for his blade, the one that he made sure he still carried even after ocean's fury, Alister began to wearily circle his opponent. Forcing her to step away from the crypt the singer was in, and closer to the treacherous footing of the rocky terrain.

Still confused about the man actually breathing, Brynhild did not notice the blade being drawn. Sputtering her confession she said, "How did you survive?"

Caught off guard, Alister let his blade droop a bit. "What?"

"I have been burying more people then I have ever seen before, why did you survive?" Raising her voice and her brow she added, "how did you survive?"

Looking out of the corner of his eyes, Alister was prepared for the other Vikings to jump out and grab him. Yes he knew Vikings to be simple creatures, however even there women are considered dangerous and dumb. This woman may claim to be innocent, may even claim to like Celts. But that doesn't mean he has to believe her tricks.

Vikings are prone to say one thing only to mean quite a different thing once your back is turned.

"Are you part of Hel's legions?"

Alister replied with raising the top of his blade back into its proper height. Too may nights he had watch duty against the hordes of the Viking pillagers. Too many battles with such forsaken creatures and too many problems do to it.

Seeing his blade as confirmation to her prediction, Brynhild swore. She was as religious as the next man was; die in battle only to be granted immortality and the chance to live for the last battle. Anything else meant dying like a weakling and staying in Hel's domain filled with sulfur and the unpleasant details of forgetting yourself. Past loves and accomplishments filtering from your mind like the mist before a sun. Gone forever, leaving you a shell of human flesh with no past and no romantic future.

That's why too many men tried to be "barbaric" and see death in battle, life in Hel's realm was far worse then any mortal torture program. But, she was supposed to be dead when fighting Hel's hordes. And unless her soul didn't in fact leave her while she slept, then she was sure she was still alive.

Grinning, maybe this was her fight that would bring her to the halls of Valhalla and Odin would praise her as being the first mortal to fight the enemy's horde of dead minions.

Releasing her fortifications and inhibitions, she screamed "Odin's balls" and began to change her shape.

Seeing the charging woman change in front of your eyes might have sacred a normal man, maybe even a Celt, but Alister has seen too many feats of daring impossibilities that he just stayed where he was and watched as she rapidly misted over.

From her fingers, long talons emerged; fur began to collect over her body, first in patches and then fully thickening to become a pelt that any hunter would love. Its rich dark red, dark black hue spread from her head down to her taloned toes. Her own face began to enlarge and thicken as a muzzle filled with piercing teeth replaced her normal bicuspids and molars.

Before his resent journies Alister might be intimidated by the wolf before him, might even be worried for his own soft flesh. However Alister knew how to handle dogs. Even big dogs that red haired wolves tried to be.

Rushing forward with teeth barred, Brynhild charged her Helish opponent.

Bracing for impact, Alister started banishing his iron sword like a wooden club, dancing away from the woman's sharpened paws and aiming for her head.

Just like a stupid mutt, the girl forgot about the sword, only seeing the raw meat that was Alister.

Falling backwards from the impact of the wound, she started to whine. Dizzyingly she stood up. Once with a firm grip, she changed into something bigger, something that most men couldn't easily dodge. Once more her body began to shimmer, began to enlarge. Her muscles became thicker, and her bones stronger in response.

Seeing her enlargement, Alister cursed. Replacing the sword within his sheath, he grabbed the hunting knife by his belt.

He had no energy left to fight a wolf, let alone go attacking a four hundred-pound bear.

Growling her rage and anger from the first blow, Brynhild approached her victim on all fours. Her paws began to sweep at him, keeping the sharper knife away from her underbelly.

Already on rocky terrain, and already dizzied by his most recent problems, Alister blindly bumbled behind him, keeping the bear distracted with his switch handed knife blade, while he searched for better terrain.

All he needed know was to fall down and have the monster body slam him.

Growling in frustration Brynhild stood on her back two legs, gaining the height issue and freedom to swipe with her front paws. However, this defense might leave an experienced fighter an opening for her belly.

Crouching low, Alister steadied his breathing. Feeling the grainy feel of the rock-strewed earth underfoot, Alister steadied his heart beating. Seeing the menacing paws of the bear stomp closer to his lowered gaze, Alister steadied his arm. Sensing the swipe above his head, Alister somersaulted closer to the girl's bear form.

Smelling the fur so close to his nose, Alister thrust his blade deep into her belly.

Howling her anger and surprise, Brynhild started pawing wildly, blindly attacking and swiping, using her girth and muscles to propel her closer to target.

Too close for comfort against the rampaging wounded beast, Alister backpedaled. However, not only because he was that close, but his ever need to stay upright in such terrain caused his head to smash into her flailing paws. Sharpened claws scraped his cheek, knocking his head back on the way.

Feeling her enemy so close, she dove in, pouncing on her target. Wheeling from the blow, Alister almost was knocked down, luckily he stayed up. Only to be smashed on his side where the bear's muzzle and weight bore down on him.

Crushed underneath the weight and feeling the jagged edges of the stones beneath him, Alister brought his hands and knife up. Both gladiators traded blows, punches and scrapes. A knife soaked in blood here, a claw digging in soft flesh there. Both berserkers struggled for the better hand, trying to gain a clear death slash, forcing the other to leave an opening. Alister blindly pushed one way and squirmed the other, and Brynhild tried swiping while using her bulk to pin the Celt.

Getting one-hand away Alister's fingers groped for a stone. Clinging in on one and its dirt surrounding it, he threw it into the bear-girl's face and pushing his legs back.

Brynhild's might be able to look like a bear, have the force of a bear, but the longer in a form the harder it was to keep everything a perfect construct. Bleeding and bruised she was slowly loosing a grip on her bear form.

And the first thing to go was the extra weight she inherited with her bestial form.

Thus, with the shock of the stone and dirt in her eyes, she thrust her own head back. Then with the help of the Celt's leg lunge, and her deteriorating body weight, she was consequently thrown off of the man.

Squirming to his feet, Alister also reached for his sword. Blood fell from both combatants. Bear slashes and blade scars adorned the bodies of both parties. And yet neither gladiator fell nor gave up.

Seeing that her scare tactics wasn't working, and her own power was lacking in forms she never practiced fully with, Brynhild decided to change into the one form she always was when not a female human.

The shimmer again gave Alister another breathing time. However, counting on that, Brynhild's transformation occurred while running towards her enemy.

Blindly, Alister knew not what to strike and what form the girl would try again. By the time she fully transformed, she was already on top of him. Hooves striking stones and head forcing Alister to either jump to a side or jump on.

Trained in the arts, his muscles and skills took over before his own consciousness knew what he was doing.

Grabbing the neck of the beast, Alister swung himself onto the mare.

Together they went for a ride, her hooves bounding over the rocky coastline. Heading towards the woods, Alister was allowed one kick before she jumped and pranced, forcing her rider to hang on for his life. At these speeds, one miscalculation on either of their parts meant a splattered image of their normally three dimensional forms.

Not wanting to be scrapped off of a rock or tree branch, Alister clung to her mane. Jumping she cleared the death pit and continued past the woods, dodging woods and rocks here and there. If he slipped, not only would he be pudding but also he would be mangled beyond recognition from her forceful hooves. Each one capable of tearing off his flesh and breaking a bone. Wildly she ran, sweat and blood soaked her flanks, foam started spewing from her muzzle in answer to what she was asking her body. Pushing it beyond normal human standards, beyond her normal standards. All for the sole purpose of disposing her cargo.

With a mighty heave and a shimmer of skin, her cargo was launched from her flanks, flying through the greenery over what used to be her head, speeded by the momentum of what used to be a chariot race.

Falling head first, Alister had the brains enough to tuck some part of him in before crashing to the ground with a tree-shaking THUD.

Shimmering still, Brynhild quickly regained her human appearance.

With two steps she went over to her unconscious minion of Hel. Still breathing hard with a slightly foamy mouth and covered in sores from her ordeal with the man, she opted for the easiest way of killing the undead girl. She grabbed Alister's knife and tossed his sword, before shimmering yet again into her old bear form.

Both parties were lucky that they were children of the gods; by shimmering a new skin was formed, only scar tissues and bruised areas remained. And Alister had to thank his own healing abilities to help him through his ordeal.

Leaving him out cold in the mercy of his own mind. With only a mental wailing of a dog as a lullaby.


	13. Left alone

A.N. Thanks Omni for being a great Beta. I just wanted to get this guy out here and give you a nice early Holiday gift. Also thanks to Aceswild for actually reviewing! Here is a cake with fun iceing :P

Also, the characters have been separated. No one has died… yet. I can use this time to place new characters in, as well as change up the old teams. I hope you enjoy the twist.

I would like to tell you that we all went our merry ways and were left alone by destiny.

But that's hard to do when not only you can predict destiny's fickle ways but also grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her until she gave you what you wanted.

At least that's the way Shinrei felt after the Atlantis Attack.

Tears streaked down the girl's face as she fully relived the last moments of life from countless corpses. They could do nothing, they couldn't more hand nor foot. Part of the thrill of death was the fact that you could overcome it. By playing chess with Death and winning, by turning your body slightly and thus getting the arrow two centimeters away from your heart, by puking up the poisoned wine.

Humans knew of the dangers of death, revealed in the delight of another's torture, and constantly thought of new ways and new devices to stop or cause Death. Blades made of iron to stab, ropes made of horse hair to strangle, toxins made of weeds to poison, mixtures made of an assortment of powder to blow things up. The human mind was very versatile in its need to think of new ways of killing their neighbors. Warriors went to battle for the honor it entailed of serving you country and proving your skill. Boys tempted fate in dangerous stunts in order to empress the girls they wanted to fuck.

But in all these repulsive examples was the concept of free will. Warriors knew they could die but still went off to fight for the emperor, boys knew that if they didn't jump far enough they could die, but still wanted the bragging rights. A man prepared for the death penalty knew that the gods might not save him and cause a lightening bolt to strike his warden. There was some choice and some hope that their puny existences could be saved.

But Nur and Shinrei took that away from the people of Atlantis. Stole away their hope and showed them the horrible truth of the matter. That no matter how hard you struggle, no matter how hard you fight, or how hard you pray, you were going to die that day.

And even worse, they didn't die fast.

Lava has a way of slowing slurping down the hillsides, expanding over its territory like molasses. Creeping and crawling its way closer. You could see your death stare you in the face and panic with all your might and still you wouldn't move. Then the heat would hit you. You could feel the hot breath of the force of nature, breathing down your body, making you sweat and your skin to itch and go crazy. And you couldn't scratch it; you couldn't run away to the cooling waters of the sea. If the beast left you air to breathe you could still feel your lungs contract and burn for more air. And the intense liquid of the earth still hasn't touched you. It has only warned you of the menacing powers it possesses, has only teased you off what death would be like. You wished you were dead by then. You hoped that your air would run out, that you could just fall over, that you could burn from the heat that the monstrous magma flow was emitting. You would hope that you wouldn't feel the heated caress of the lava.

Shinrei wasn't there and she hoped she would die before that instant. Before voices all screamed their last long and agonizing shrill scream for release.

But she was too far to feel the lava. To far away to witness her destruction of an ancient race. To far away to realize what she has caused.

All she could do was sit with head on her knees listening to the reverberating echoes of the dead Atlantians

Elena reopened her eyes after her mix up with Kazan. Her body was sprawled next to his in one plush corner. Much like their interchangeable memories laid their limbs; an arm here and leg under that head. Mixed up body parts for mixed up minds.

The strange part of this configurment was that it felt natural.

Who cared about the missing pieces of her mind or the jumbled mix up of her limbs? She still had her health, still had a future before her. Why did one need their past to bog them down and suffocate them in an unending persistent depression?

Carefully, so as not to hurt or wake her other half, Kazan, Elena wiggled out of their jumble. Sitting up with all her limbs in her control, she felt cold. The world made sense when she could share its burdens with another. Before standing on her own, she looked back at the man's sleeping figure. She remembered they were always angry, never calm. Always trying to prove them or trying to get into a better place or status.

But with each other's help both lines of anger and sadness have melted away into their blissfully ignorant selves.

Moving away from Zan, Elena looked upon her new surroundings. Normally this place was filled with elegance and wealth. Silken curtains, pillows covering the floor and an easy access kitchen. Today it looked trashed and torn. Ripped shreds of silk laid pitifully, pillows missing their feathers, and the one gilded room was lackluster with its shabbiness.

With trepidation, Elana moved in on her target, the curtained chamber pot kept in the corner of the room. Hearing voices and footsteps approaching, she carefully closed the curtain around herself and strained to make out words. Just because she knew where the potty was doesn't mean she recalls what kind of people the voices belonged to or the relationship she had with either.

This was the down side of splitting a pile of memories up.

"The big guy isn't taking this too lightly is he?"

"Lower your voice, or he'll attack you too."

"Been there love."

"Did you see what he did to her kitchen, to her instrument? You'd be lucky if we could identify you after he was finished with you."

"Psht, she left, big whoop."

"And what about him…"

"Ha! Yeah well that's the one you should be mad at! Did the swordsman think before doing that?"

"Don't underestimate Alister's abilities or mind; he knew exactly what he was doing." Hearing that name caused a memory to flare up. Instantly a new recollection started playing in Elena's mind. She disliked Alister for his obvious talents and skills. Everyone here, from the girl to her Chin protector liked him. Even Nur bowed down to the Celt's skills. Seeing the rippled muscles and the strange exotic rugged man in her minds eyes she had rethink her own memory.

"Oh, so you have a soft spot for unkempt monkeys?"

"I respect him. That's all."

"Is it?"

"Ha! You're jealous! This is a petty emotion for someones's whose world just blew up. Nevat wait, I was …" quickly the voices trailed off.

After finishing her reason to actually be behind the curtain and in the chamber pot, Elena moved away. There were repercussions for every action. Everybody knew that, it was common knowledge. If a courtier acted out of place, it was the Lord's duty to make sure that courtier never made that mistake again. If a slave slept in a few more moments after roll call was called, then the whip would favor his back. Elena didn't even need all of her memories to know this one.

What she did need was to fill in the gaps.

Who was Alister and what did he do? Who was this "her" the voices were referring too? And who did Elena actually like here again?

Retracing her earlier steps, Elena came once again to her sleeping other half. The man brought a smile to her lips. It was a nice feeling that somebody would be able to help her, would understand her.

A nagging thought jumped into her mind, her old lover was good. But that person would never understand this: this feeling of being superior the others, this gift that caused this memory mix up and journey to begin.

But the dead were always perfect; you tend to forget their problems. As if the eulogy was just one big eraser to their mistakes, only leaving behind the good and the fun times you had with the dead person.

Shaking her head, Elena arranged herself comfortably, and closed her physical eyes. Seeing the thick thread to her connection with her other half, she crossed it. Instantly she once again came to the Babylonian's head. Their home. Their sanctuary from the outside world.

There she found her other half, the man soul, he whose outside self preferred to be called Zan.

'I'm back', she sent. Instantly thoughts of warmth and greetings were sent back to her. Rising from his own crunched position, the male soul joined her near the entrance.

'Did everything go well?'

'I knew how to walk if that's what you are wondering about." she joked. Poking him in the ribs she continued 'but that's not why I am here." Fishing out her recent potty memory from a mentally constructed sack, she played it for him.

"She, hmmmm….I was a tad bit busy at the end of the conflict. But you were in charge of this body, do you recall anything."

Shaking her head she responded "No, I was just following my survival instincts and not looking for another female to bag"

"Just because I'm male doesn't mean that I think all about females all the time"

Before she could respond back to that easy opening, the souls both felt a change in the atmosphere. The body they both shared was waking up. Together, they left their relative safety of the outer consciousness and edged in closer.

Blinking Zan awoke. If Nur was paying any attention to his minion, he would have witnessed the change of eye colors from one eye to the next. But as it was, Nur was too busy being distracted by his own inner demons.

"Inferno, the control you show leads me to question your true ability. Get to work with Pai and I better see results or I'll skin you like I did the animal."

Blinking, Zan made sense of the order. One part questioned the use of the code name versus the real name.

'Everybody else calls you by your name, why does he get off calling you something you're not."

'Codenames mean power, and my means Fire. Pai's means the same, only not as forceful as mine. Would you be afraid of a person named Elena, a weak female or … Scrutiny, a shapeless indescribable force who stares in such away that the other party begins to get nervous and twitchy.'

Chewing on the name, Scrutiny stopped questioning and looked over to where Pai sat, ready for his warm-up.

Shinrei sat there with the tears running down her face, so completely connected to Atlantis that she didn't notice the women she saved approach.

Lina and Nef awoke moments ago, each with their own horror stories and scars from that dreadful place. Both didn't know the crying girl sitting before them.

"Umm, excuse me…." Avangelina tried delicately enough.

The old Nef would have smacked the crying girl upside the face in order to talk, would have uncoiled her snakes and demanded the girl to pay attention; maybe even drawn her blades for a more substantial interview.

But she was still to shaken up from her own problems from Atlantis. It's easy to get through life, pushing your way through the crowd to be noticed, bending the rules to get your way, anything for your own survival. You could trick yourself into believing that you were something special, that you are far more important then any person foolish enough to cross paths with you.

It was easy just to dismiss angry priests, they were jealous of her talents.

It was easy to see that her many siblings were also petty and cruel because she was blessed so

It was easy to understand, it was every bodies fault but her own. She was Nefertit ------, the great and sacred priestess to Isis, Queen of the Immortal gods.

But lies turn to ash when all come face to face with the facts, when you finally see things for the truth and not through your rose colored glasses. It's a shock to the system finally acknowledging that she has been cruel, had been mean, and had been wrong. Gathering her legs up, she began to hug herself and silently shudder as memories came unasked for.

She saw her mother's face the day she was brought into the secret order of the sisterhood of Isis. A normal mother should have been proud, but hers wasn't. Nef's mother looked ashamed, she looked saddened that her favorite child would never have the life she had, the life of a warm husband and delightful children.

Nef could see her father's bruised and bloody face after getting her into the sisterhood. The man was a lording, but a low one. A petty merchant with 2 other wives, hardly rich at all. And he claimed to have a daughter that could take down the Pharaoh himself, a daughter who's powers you could actually see and not the "mystical" invisible powers that the Leader of the two Lands claimed. And because of his tongue, and because she complained that he never told anybody about her, and could never get her what she was destined for; he was beaten within an inch of his life.

Her other siblings hated her for her obvious control over her parents, they didn't get to go t the sisterhood, they didn't get to marry into a well to do family either because not only did her father's healing bill cost a lot, but so was the audience with the pharaoh's men.

The only person in her family that could sometimes understand her meanderings and day dreams was her cousin. And she was dead.

Thoughts that used to only nag in the back of her mind now shouted at her because of Nur's touch. The once easily dismissed ideas broadcasted themselves loudly in the very forefront of her thought, the lies she told herself to calm her heart were pitiful attempts to cover her blackened soul.

Nur was right.

She was a monster

She was imperfect.

Shinrei slowly rose out of her ghost gloom after feeling Nef's distress. A new pain filled her heart, one of inadequacy and self-hatred that she has only felt from Desdemona and not in such a rush as Shinrei was feeling now. Desdemona has yet to truly see all her monsters, her own inner troubles. And until Nur decided to reveal her own soul back to her, Plague wasn't about to.

Desdemona might have stopped herself from getting to that hated place during the balcony crash. But she was too far away for Shinrei to tell. Instead the Chin girl trusted her own talent and started playing her samisun. The mental instrument slowly played a beautiful piece. It wasn't as good as Bevin's voice in the courtyard, but it brought with its own beauty.

Simple chords for simple delights.

A warm spring day, the scent of a daisy, feeling refreshed after a bath. Little things to remind the Egyptian woman that life had its good.

Together, both women started humming along with the melody. Together both finished off the silent symphony that only they shared together. Feelings and emotions were played back over each girl, reminding them that they too are small and simple in the world. With all their power, and all their knowledge, they were still only one person. One human mortal person with all the faults and problems that concede with their humanity.

Opening their eyes, the two women felt a bit better. Nothing save of immortal interference could make them forget could make them erase their own life. Bad things happened and now they must get up and correct them.

Quizzically Lina asked "What did I miss?"

Feeling all eyes on her, Shinrei gathered herself for this moment of truth. "Pythos is dead."

"What! How?" came Lina's screeching reply. The girl quickly jumped to her feet and started pacing.

"We are not godlings, not anything special other then people born with strange talents. Nur, my former master, called us mutants. Natures last fighters, her children who adapted in stranger ways then her normal children."

Shinrei continued on explaining her tail, ignoring the Greek when she rudely added another grunt or spaz attacks. The Chin girl explained the role of Pythos, of Iole's interference, and lastly herself. After she was done she said a silent prayer to Apollo that the women before her would decide for themselves if the quest was still a necessary one.

Minuets were passing and Zan's anger was growing exponentially. They were trained as a child to hold not only an arrow but a sword. A curved blade that could easily cut a man's throat, the deadly iron that could easily grant its wielder a kingdom or a quick death. A sword ment wealth, a sword meant power, a sword meant manhood.

Lessons from early childhood played in the background of the soul's eyes, lessons drilled into their consciousnesses for days and years.

And yet they were still being ridiculed by a Chin man.

Zan could execute a perfect parry and speedy thrust, but Tsu would merely block it as if the maneuver was made by an amateur. Their attacks became more sloppy and Tsu' lessons more distinct. Zan's sword was lower by an inch then it normally would be, and Tsu's simple block became a butt smack, became a finger smack, and finally a full head smack that left the body sprawled on the floor. Turning around the Chinese man dismissed his struggling student.

Both souls were angry, who was Xien Tsu to do this? He was nether Lord nor Babylonian. He was not royalty, he was not a true blood, Irkalla's abode, he wasn't even a true believer. And yet more times then not the guk thought he was better, thought that by being Zan's servant was s shame to his reputation. Memories of rolled eyes and kicks in the butt began to flood back in their minds.

Their father did the same thing.

He would send them off to a special errand, only to find that it wasn't a great importance, was just a way to get rid of them. The body's heart began to beat faster. They would come to court and see problems in the government, yet as soon as they opened their mouth they would be cut down, their comments mocked about and spat upon. The body's hand hold tightened around the blade. They were once found fucking a servant girl, and not only was the girl the only one who ever treated them nicely and thought they were cute and kind and right but she was their first love. The body began to shudder as deep memories fueled its rage. She soon was killed after the babe was born. And the child was still in custody of the state. Rumors say that the child is the personal cleaner of the latrines; some say the babe was made into a eunuch, and others tell the tale of the kid who was the personal butt licker of the slave captain. The body began forming tiny flames that jumped and quivered with the throbbing anger.

Screaming his son's name Zan brought his blade up and hacked off Pai's right arm. Instantly cauterized by the flame the burned across the blades length.

Pai crumpled like a dead man, stunned and fractured with pain, Nevat, who was toying with a harp, instantly ran over to him and Desdemona turned away from the plant she was wilting and looked over at the scene.

Pai was lying on the ground biting his lip, trying to keep himself from crying out loud from the pain. Her Atlantian was bringing water to the man's head shushing him and trying to do something for the armless man.

And Zan, his eyes were cleared of the insanity that gripped them for so long. The passion that once frightened the Greek woman was dimmed, in its place understanding and fulfillment. His arms began to construct sword patterns, the flames still burning on the sword illuminating the weaving motion. A thrust here, a slice there. Each form was practiced and countered, a perfect katana that would make any sword teacher proud of this student.

Bowing low to the man on the ground Zan performed his last dance with the flame: running his hand over the blade, the fire being quenched as he did so. With a now ordinary blade, the Babylonian calmly placed it back into its sheath. Saying something under his breath as he did so.

Looking up after he was done, he uttered "Knock him out with your talent Desdemona. He shouldn't have to endure that much pain anymore."

"I feel I should tell you that this journey, this quest of Pythos's, was just means for vengeance. Because of his daughter's death and his visions he now had motive and the tools needed to go after Apocalypse, to go after En Saba Nur."

Lina moved away from the others to soak up the latest tale. Shinrei explained to them a mouthful, one of love, loss and angry revenge. Avanglina of Aydose was only special in the man's eyes as a weapon. Was she only a way to kill a man for his own act of murder? She wasn't proclaimed as a goddess among mere mortals, not some bastard child of Zues's newly found. Just a mutant.

An ugly word for deformed child.

She had been following Pythos blindly for so long for the simple reason that she mattered. That she was somehow ordained by the gods to be here, to go with him. That she was being watched and challenged from those on high Olympus, like Hercules was by Hera. And now…

"And now what?" Lorn, her normally more pessimistic side questioned.

Glancing out towards the humble hills and quite beauty of China, Lina sighed. She nearly got herself killed in the latest attack, her skin still crispy on her shoulders. She nearly died without telling her parents where she went, nearly died without truly knowing what she was doing here, without knowing the true reason of her "savior".

Caliope soon joined their motley group "You joined for your own reasons, you joined for normalcy, for"

"For normalcy? What is normal about almost burning to death for some crack pot old man? What is normal about traveling to distant lands in an eye blink?"

"What's normal about creating burning arrows in the palms of your hands?" Lorn questioned. He was sitting with his back to the girls, playing with the dirt lined floor and refusing to meet his maker's eyes.

"Shut up!"

With a dismissive arm wave, she blinked the two invisible friends out. "What's so normal about talking to myself, huh? And why'll you're at it, what is so normal about listening to a crazy old man talk about dreams and goals, about people of myth and ledgend. What is so normal about any of this? Huh? Answer me that!" Twirling around she yelled at the sky.

"I know I'm not normal, I know that I was duped. That's what you want, right Lorn? I should have listened to you, I should have stayed in Abydos, I should have never let that old man in. And for that matter I should never had created either of you!"

Dramatically, she threw herself to the ground, pulling up shafts of grass and submersing her fingers in the dark soil.

"Why? Why did I create you? Why did I have to? Why did I listen to that old man? He was just using me as all the other ones. I was just some weapon to him, just some tool to use against Nur. And he did what? He showed me what it was like outside of Abydos. Big whoop. I could have walked away anytime I wanted to." Crushing the grass, she began to heat up her hand and form an arrow, bright light began to build in her palms. Raw anger from her emotions fed her power. Anger for her creations, those dim witted begins that shaped her and got her into trouble more times then not.

She shot off an arrow, "I'm 16 years old, 16 years olds don't have imaginary friends!" With a shove, she launched the arrow towards the sky, watching as it broke apart into tinier arrows and burned the sky.

She began forming another one, using the anger at Pythos, "I'm a smart intelligent girl, I don't need man, dead or alive to direct me places!" Another heave sent a slightly burning arrow to the heavens. Burning the cool breeze playing in the hills.

Another arrow quickly replaced the last, "I'm Greek, I don't need some Chin girl, who knows nothing, nothing of my people, of my culture, of my religion telling me what's right and telling me how I was duped!" Shear intensities and burning heat would make any lesser person shied their eyes and cover their heads in fear of godly anger. But the angered teenager didn't bat an eye before creating yet another bolt.

"I'm mortal; I'm not some child of the gods, not someone who should play with fire and be able to control it! I'm just Avanglina of Abydos, daughter of Priap and Merina! Slave for 15 more years to the landholder Hercalic. Not Artmis in human form, not sister to Apollo, I'm not anywhere in their league. And it was stupid, stupid and childish to think differently!" With one last umph, she filled her bolt with all the energy she could muster, a huge crackling bolt that even the strongest bow couldn't launch. An arrow so wide, that it nearly dwarfed her own frail body, with a scream and a gut curdling cry, Lina launched the sucker up into the sky. She closed her eyes as the pointed barb sailed eerily through the blue heavens, demanding attention from all that were close.

Nef and Shinrei saw it, running towards the windows they nearly chocked on their tongues staring at the power of the arrow.

Birds and wildlife saw it; eerily they grew silent and watched as their own death soared closer to them.

But the creator, the Greek slave girl from Abydos, didn't.

Only felt the impact of it, felt the shudder and the heat wave expand from its demises hit her heard enough to throw her backwards. All she saw now were memories of her old life. Of normalcy. And a promise to her mother, never to ever use her talents again until her life depended on it.

And standing here, where the chin girl dumped them in beautiful serene China wasn't exactly life threatening, it was only desion changing.

The two women picked themselves up off of the cold floor, dusting the skirts and linen pleats as they went. Shinrei could feel the inner turmoil from the girl, could feel the anger surrounded by grief and ashamed reactions. All normal, all things she was expecting.

What she wasn't expecting was the blast the took off half of the hillside nor the blast that rattled this house to its foundations.

Adjusting her cotton wrap, Shinrei moved to straighten the rice painting on the wall behind her. When she first came to this place as a child it was filled with silken drapes and rice paintings and servants. It was a safe harbor for geishas and costumers alike. A secret house in the hillsides for wealthy men and their many mistresses, away from the peering eyes of their mothers and wives.

True, a man was considered important, was considered higher then a worthless female any day. But that didn't mean that a mother didn't hold some control over her sons, or that of her husbands. Especially when such wealthy mothers bought and sold most of the pretty young servant girls that could be for things other then cleaning. It was a delicate weave of modesty and power, and one that suited Shinrei's people for a very long time.

It helped her now when she needed a place to hide from Nur.

She could feel his anger; it still cut through the pain and the ache that was the aftereffect of Atlantis. Could feel his disapproval warm her back as if he was still breathing behind her, watching her, waiting for her.

Too many times he called to her in the night with yet another plan, another turn in a strategic plot to hurt Pythos and his minions.

The strongest survived, and if Pythos survived then so be it. But Nur was positive his team was stronger, was better, was more powerful then any would be priest and his followers.

He carefully chose his minions, played upon their weakness and brought others in to force the others into working.

Kazan and his need to be the best against a servant.

He played on stereotypes and emotions, a well placed sign of lust here, a flippant comment there.

Alister and his peoples presumed fighting style, or Nevat and his wayward tongue.

All tricks belonged to him; all fights that broke out had his meticulous craftsmanship. A puppeteer to an experimental puppet.

Desdemona and her death fancies.

He used her against weaker mutants, having her pass them out and kill them as her talents took off. He utilized her talents in destroying crops struggling to survive. Abydos, home of Lina, was a target. As was Egypt's plains.

And she?

When such forces couldn't be found or added, she gave them extra pushes.

A suggestion here, a lapse in concentration when pulling back a bow and arrow in the middle of a war, a whispered remark about the gods, their temples and their oracles to a young noble with a problem on his hands, or even a staged tournament and a passing inquiry on the fairness of it all in a barbaric and mystical land.

Simple tricks that she learned from her mother.

"When I touch my hair my daughter, like this, you will make them want me."

"Why?"

"Because you want that new doll in the window."

The Chinese girl hid behind the silken curtains in the brothel house, such as this very house. Silently making her mother more desirable, the other girls to be repulsive. Or even odder stints. She would sit in her mothers lap and men would come, seeking comfort and a pleasant face to smile upon him and tell him he was doing well. Or changing a village elder's view on having a prostitute walk through his small town, instead of clinging the rock he would grab a dust cloth and get to work doing women's chores.

It was her game with her mother.

It was how she knew she was loved.

Following orders became as natural to Shinrei as touching her power. And without her dead mother's help and explanation on what to do, the frightened 13 year old was lost. Years went by and she was lost. Begging on street corners and stringing through dumpsters.

She didn't touch her power because her mother wasn't there to help her. To show her when she was needed and when she wasn't. To tell her what emotion would work best for what man?

Some men didn't need to feel awed in the same room with a geisha, and such a feeling would lead to questions. Others shouldn't ever be led to believe that she would give them the answers they seaked. Such men became stalkers and forced the woman and her daughter to run.

Without her mother's quite answers or commands Shinrei couldn't control anything.

Until Nur came.

And then she was told once again what to do.

And she knew what feeling to inspire; sleepiness and just rote movements of pulling back the notch of an arrow, blindly aiming amidst an almost victories army, or the feeling of such distrust and hatred of someone you normally would give your life for, your blood brother and the man who used to sit with you for Viking watches, long after his own watch was through. And the only escape, the only way out trusted the gods in a sanctuary miles away. She even scratched a jealous chord here, creating such a loathing that even the truth here and there would be hated and feared. So much emotion in that little hint, little harbinger that codes were broken, friendships were buried and blood ties of family love were shattered

She didn't realize that a boy king would die from her hints or know that a simple passing phase would create the end of an innocence that would bring a bright soul filled with fresh ideas and loves into one of self loathing and hatred for others. She didn't even realize that a man would be expelled from his home land; bruised and broken from a stoning and from the mental scars left behind

She was just following orders

Not any more

Now she was stronger. Now she didn't need anybody, be they Nur or the voices in her head to tell her what to do. She was powerful and smart. And if she was ever going to right the wrongs she committed in her services to Nur then it would start now. On her terms.

With her mind made up she made her way past Nef and out the door to the girl child lying in the ground, silently crying to herself.

Crouching low Shinrei said "I go to find a Celt. Will you help me?"

Fumbling to sit up and wipe away the tears in her eyes, Lina could only imagine what a spectacle she looked. But she knew of one Celt that wouldn't care if she or Lina looked dirty. She would stick out her chin and dare the others to make a comment.

And so, believing that she was going to go rescue or find her only true real friend Bevin, she accepted.

With a meaty shove, a hand broke out from the earth's crust; his prison, his life holder, his gift, his curse.


	14. far from pleasant

I would like to tell you that we all went our merry ways and were left alone by destiny.

That after those days of hardships and painful revelations were finally done, that whatever else was in our futures would be a quiet lazy day in which we could just enjoy the sights. That we all went back to our normal lives with a slightly more appreciative look at things.

But I would be lying far worse then a snake oil trader.

No, instead, we were allowed a little rest, a slight regrouping before the gods brought us back together and meddled with our lives. Kwanio was the only one to have any quite days.

But they were far from pleasant.

The wind whispered, caressing the sandy dunes and wiping them clean. Pristine hills so golden that they emulated the burning sun above, creating a golden paradise that would fill any greedy man's eyes. Blue heaven above and flaxen dunes all around.

A man can be free under these mighty giants of land and sky; a man can feel tiny and insignificant to the creator's eye. A man can be at peace. Under the skies, a man can be home.

That thought alone kept this man going.

His burning lungs and bruised body were barely holding him up. His stomach pussing with lecherous material and his eyes swimming with a fever induced dizzy spell. Only his blood sang with hope and gratefulness.

He was home.

No more dark allies and foreign plots. No more hateful encounters with the pale ghosts or burning sharp blades. No more tight enclosed darkness' eating away at him.

Under the blinding sun and above the burning sand a man can feel safe. A man knew his place here.

A man was strong; a man was the head of a household, keeping the thieves away from his camels, away from his children. It was a simple law of the desert. A man survived if he was strong and smart. If he paid attention to the seasons and to the deserts fickle ways, if he remembered the patterns and the timings of his woman's cycle. A man was complete.

Kwanio hadn't felt complete in a very long time.

Even the dunes of his home couldn't erase the pain he felt. The world that he knew and the one that he belonged to no longer held the cure for his problems. It held too much pain within its own breast. Pain from forgotten memories of abuse, pain from the plagues that ravaged its fertile lands, pain from its other children who were whipped in slavery or sold by the priests for late taxes.

Kwanio felt that pain.

Kwanio the camel herder also felt his own heart's pain, and the pain of his wounds. A long pussing gash on his stomach demanded his attention, his head swam from lack of water, and his body wearily moved forward, driven to find relief. For days after, he wandered like this, seeking help, clarity or a reason why.

He had wandered the deserts before.

Crippled and nearly exhausted he remembered that day.

That day, so alike this day, started to burn though his memory, like a spark of greedy fire that needed to seek all attention until finished

He was thirsty just like he was today, his feet were raw from the traveling, so used to being on a camel's back as he was, just like today. The only difference was that his stomach was filled with the last reserves of their wares and not in stitches bounded by black mud as it was today.

Half-starving, half-dead he came out to the skies where he belonged and begged the gods for help, for guidance, for something.

Just like he does today. The burning feeling of the memory made him pause. His shuffling feet stopped and refused to go forward, and he stumbled to a kneeling position, beseeching the sand, resting his blistered feet, clearing his head.

Kwanio remembered that day he was clasping his hands together and asking for help from Set, the god of the desert for help. He remembered that his fingers were convulsing before his face, wavering with fatigue and parched from the lack of water, but still red from their blood.

That's when it hit him.

He just lay there watching his hands with a bemused-almost dead stare, recalling his family, recalling their blood, how light they felt in his hands as if their bas, or souls, already left their bodies. He was just staring at his hands when a perfect sign fell into them.

Water.

A single perfect teardrop of the skies fell in between his outstretched palms. The true treasure of the desert fell onto the thirsting land, fell between his coated hands, the palms, onto the gilded dust below. Raising his heavy brow, Kwanio the herder saw the bounty of the skies fall upon his unworthy back, felt the gods tears refresh him, felt the cold crispness of the liquid strike a cord in him.

He watched as the blood was washed away.

But that memory was a lifetime ago.

Today, kneeling in the desert, half-dead and half-tortured, there was no sign of the gods above. Not a speck of rain in the brilliantly blue sky, no glimmer of moisture from any of the cardinal directions.

Moaning out loud the proud Egyptian fell forward, tasting the sand, feeling the coarseness of reality touch his face. His gods, his beliefs had left him, left him to wander in his memory alone. Willing him to remember.

Memories, even harsh ones, became his pillow for the night.

Another man, cubits away from his companions also dreamt unpleasantries that night. Images of a searching, of running through the woods looking for something, danced across his closed eyelids. A howl in the distances of the darkened woods made his dream self run faster.

This memory is the one that the tired ex-camel herder will never forget.

Dawn was coming to bath the dunes in a sultry glow, a pale hint of the spectacular blue that would come later, a whisper of purple around the edges, enticing the viewer to head for the mountains in the east.

He enjoyed these times.

Kwanio's valleys and peaks of sand were quite, restful even. A pale hand draped across the land, steadying the life with the promise of slumber, and delicately balancing the dreams of those larger creatures.

He could sip his camel's milk and count the heads of his heard, and watch the intakes of breath from his own clan without disturbing any of the great wonders of nature. He could cover his son's arm with the patchy blanket or push a thumb back upon the moist lips of his tiniest daughter. His manhood wouldn't be questioned by doing these womanly caresses.

No one laid awake with him, only the endless sky and himself. No one for miles to spy on his moments of frank happiness and special joys that must be covered like a face in a sandstorm when the day was fully up to them. No one would see his hidden joy.

Well, maybe his wife, Tienta, but she allowed him these small treasures. She would quietly turn her head, knowing she was giving him time, and knowing that this secret of theirs must only be spoken in looks, never in words.

For a woman she was very astute, and quite. A few words when necessary, but more times then not she preferred to look with her big brown eyes. And he loved her for that.

He walked over to her, and knowing that she covered her eyes for him, made him caress her cheek. A simple gesture for another.

But it was enough to mark her.

A belch from one of the heard broke the special moment. And Kwanio once again donned the indifferent mask of his male people. His hands immediately picked up some rope and the daily tasks began. Such interests belonged for the night; not when Dawn herself was leaving the day's sky.

Just as his eldest son awoke, men entered Kwanio's camp. Unwelcomed visitors who saw too much of Kwanio's private morning moments.

There was five men, two to a chariot and one riding a camel and a villager by the look of his riding gait and the style of his long robes. But the charioteers… just the rings on the one of the figures could pay for Kwanio's rations for three months. Fine crisp linen donned two men, gleaming gold and dripping red jewels across their fingers and toes, while kohl painted their eyes and headdress covered their shaven heads.

Running his hand though his own turbaned head he could feel the bristle of a months growth and a few gnats living in his locks. Kwanio frowned.

Slowing the horses, the charioteer stoped the chariot for his master to descend. Pompously the glittering fool stepped onto the land. Followed closely by the other more muscular man in Egypt's finest ware. Unused to strangers, Kwanio's family quietly approached the painted men. Grabbing his eldest Kwanio spoke, "Isis's blessing upon your heads my worthy companions"

Waving his bejeweled hand the painted man dismissed the formality of the month old greeting "We have come for your taxes Herder; five bulls and twelve cows."

Staring at the lordling's hands and fickle movements, Kwanio missed the villager herding the specified camels away from his sickly heard, leaving him eight.

"What? I paid my taxes, just like every herder at the fairs on Osisris's Return. Five calves, two cows and a bull. I also donated two wheels of cheese to the temples and some rare beads for the gods happiness."

"We have no proof of this transactions" The stingy man reported back, "what we do have is proof of an outstanding debt to the gods which has brought the plague upon us all. If it was your child stricken with such disease you would make us do anything to save her. Then save the people and pay us this meager amount. After all it is your duty as a herder and a father, so sayith the Pharaoh, the living representative of his family the gods, Lord of the Two Kingdoms. "

Kwanio could feel his anger bubbling, seventeen of his prize camels? Twisting his head and clenching his neck, the herder kept the boiling anger at bay. His wife's hands flickered in and out of her shawl, trying to contain her daughter and help her husband. And the boys went off to hold the camels back from the village boy; stupid thing couldn't even tell which were a five-month-old calf and a cow.

"This year has not been good to us either, the gods have left the plains before they ever touched the valleys of the Nile." He laid his hands palms up, beseeching the lordling. Just the other day he had to burn two of his cows and a bull. A puffy foot here and colored eyes there could spell disaster for the rest of his meager heard if it continued. His sons still wore the masks over the mouths, even though no sandstorm was blowing near.

"Herder, if you cannot pay with camels, I expect payment some other way." The greedy man's eyes slid over everything in the vicinity; the humble jewels around the woman's throat, the tents still prepared from the night, the small girl child struggling in her mother's grasp eagerly wanting to touch the tethered horses, the entire camel heard, and the small boys trying desperately to stay the bulk of the taw payment from leaving their confines. His eyes didn't miss anything as he came towards the impertinent camel grazer.

"Agreed, I will send you a wheel a cheese every month till the sun behaves as today."

In a flash the lordliness' arms plucked the young girl from her mother's fragile grip, and his muscle man brought out a gleaming sword close to Kwanio's angered mouth. "That's not the kind of payment I enjoy herder. Keep your cows, and your sons. You have no use for a girl child anyway, besides, she'll be able to see a horse any day she wants."

With the blood pumping in his veins and his woman holding onto him Kwanio thought he saw the man touch his baby girl in a very rude and disgusting way.

Pushing away from Tienta, he raised his fists and claimed the power that was his from childhood, his eyes became darker and his voice seemed to drone with the very ancient sound of the earth itself, " Hand the child over now" With the low vibrations of his voice the sand nearest them all started to shift and fall, what once was a expansive hill sides of sandy peaks, was now flatter then the region has ever been. It was if a god flattened the land with a mighty smack of his palm. The rolling dunes were flatter then oat cakes.

Staring open mouthed the muscle man dropped his blade and looked over the flattened flaxen dunes and slowly he backed off, mumbling prayers all the way back to the horses.

With her father's distraction, Oimpam leapt from the lordling's reach and raced for Kwanio's outstretched arms. Grabbing her, he held her close, smelling in the sweet smell of her hair and her youth before passing her on to her mother.

The boys instantly started to cheer their father's talents. So proud they were of Kwanio's abilities, that they completely forgot about the stranger form the village. The boys never gave him a fleeting look as he drew two blades, never noticed him as he threw the heavy metal in their direction. All they noticed was the father's outstretched hands ready to embrace them. But their reaching hands never felt the warmth of family love, for two unnoticed twin blades were lodged in their backs.

Kwanio only saw their confused faces before they both stumbled into the sands.

Moaning he went to their bodies, leaving his wife and daughter behind him. The whole world left him then; it only became the steps away from his boys. With great strides he raced over to his sons, over to young Ataj and curious Jioton. His world was defended by their tiny bodies stretched out, by their youthful faces pressed up in pain as he reached for the blades lodged in their skinny backs. His eyes were subjected to just the image before him, just the image of two tiny bodies with too much blood leaking out. His eyes searched their bodies, uncertain whom to rise, and who to believe was dead. He noticed Jioton's grin, but he only saw Ataj's dead eyes staring up at him. He only noticed his sons face, memorized the smallness of it, of the dead glare of glazed eyes, and the silent scream that was forever frozen on the youthful face.

"Husband!"

The world came back into focus only when he heard his wife's death scream. He was too late to stop another blade that fell across her body, to late to stop the blood from pouring out, and the pain that caused him to wail.

But he wasn't too late to save his daughter.

To far away, yes surrounded by his son's bodies, cradling Ataj's head in his lap, yes. But he watched horrifyingly as the scum dragged Oimpam into the chariot. Tears streaming down his face, he called the earth, called for its fury, called for its anger to reach him, to help him. Great pillars of sand blasted from the furious earth, sending the horses into a panic. Huge tiers that kept spiting sand like lava being thrust out by an angry volcano, gushed to the surface. Tiny spurts of sand followed the angry pillars, whipping around any sand not used in the pillars, darkening the sky with its whip like assault, creating a sandstorm that could sear skin off a live body. The horses in the chariot team started wailing, neighing high and fast, leaping around, trying to escape. More pillars joined in the fray, answering Kwanio's howl. Pillars that were embedded with rock and mineral sprung to his command, blocking the exiting lordlings' path. Swear and epithets coursed from the lording, while the whip strokes fell upon the foaming horses' flanks. On top of such a mountainous pillar Kwanio called forth the earth to open up, open up and feed upon the insects that crawled on its back.

A great maw filled the air, a huge chasm opened up and fed on the offering, tearing through frightened horses and man made chariots, hungrily opening further while bodies and screaming heads joined the mounts and fell deep into the thrashing earth. With a satisfying crunch the sands died and the dunes closed upon its meal.

Three pillars remained, slowly sloping back down to the bosom of the earth, Geb's fingers carefully pulling them closer. Stepping over to them, Kwanio cradled his wife's head and moaned his family's death while the freed sand danced gaily on the breeze.

"How is he?"

Nevat turned away from the bed he watched to look into Desdemona's face, "He has troubled dreams, and moves the leftover hump every now and then."

The death bringer looked down at her comrades. Pai laid on the pallet his right shoulder a painful hump where Zan cut his arm off, his features grimacing and contorted even with the knock out she gave him. He will be weakened for a bit from the loss, but the shock of wound could have killed him. Nevat looked only a bit better, dark circles under his eyes and shaky hands when he applied a cool cloth to Xien Tsu's forehead.

"I didn't know you were a healer."

He grunted in reply. Atlantis's death changed him more then she thought it did. Gone were the jovial sarcasm that marked him different from the dour faces of her other male companions, gone was the freedom of anger from his features.

"You should eat something. I'm sure Tsu won't mind if you leave a couple crumbs by his bedside."

He looked up at her, looked into her gray eyes with his dull blue ones. They used to be passionate, with blue embers dancing in the heat of his gaze. That is what melted her when she first saw him, that and his ass, but his eyes were the first things she saw. Now, the fires were extinguished and they looked like everybody else's, nothing special, and nothing new, and nothing exciting. They reminded her of he Celt's green ones- cold and lonely, but filled with so much anger and hatred.

"Is that so _Plague_?" He laughed angrily in her face, "My life actually means something to the mistress of death?" His voice was low and threatening. He grabbed her wrists and forced her to stay. " But how can that be, life is just an excuse for you to use your _talent_. To you it will just get in the way of-

"Excuse me?"

He dropped her wrists and pushed away from the Greek woman. She was dismissed. Tuning he looked up at the woman who interrupted their exchange.

Elana stood in the doorway clutching some jars from the Mouse's kitchen, "Zan sent me to help your oriental friend."

He awoke from his memory dream, still lying in the sand, still dying for lack of food and water. Still reliving the day of death when his family was taken away from him.

Kwanio had lain there with the three pillars, for days. Not leaving their side for rest or substance. He held his family, felt their blood seep into his skin, and breathed in their rotting flesh. He buried them and created a huge stone pillar to mark their burial grounds, three pillars- one for each of his family. Save for Oimpam. She was buried beneath the sand and would stay their forever. No body for him to bury, he did that when he called the earth. No earthen column to remember her, nothing to tell the world her story…

He had often wondered if Oimpam hated him, if she died hating him for burying her with the men, or was she happy for the release.

Moving to his side, Kwanio pushed that line of thought away.

The gods had rewarded him last time with rain, with the very thing that the Lordling was plaguing him for. For life, for the treasure of the desert. He was in the right; he was not wrong for not forcing his daughter into a life of slavery, for giving her into the life of slave and easily excisable rape victim. The gods had rewarded him for his loss. And gave him a plan.

It wasn't the people who should suffer, who should lose their wares and family, it shouldn't be the people who were sold into slavery to pay for the god's fickle ways. They weren't strong; they weren't in charge of that sort of thing. If it didn't rain, then the temples weren't doing their jobs, they weren't keeping the gods happy. If the plants didn't grow it wasn't the diligent farmer's duty; it was the Pharaohs duty to commune with his family. Wasn't he the god on earth, descendent of Ra himself, bringer of life and the world? Shouldn't he have done something? That's why the peasants gave taxes to both the temples and the lord, so they could keep the gods from hurting the people.

And the rain poured harder, and thunder boomed and lightning lit the sky.

Why didn't they do their jobs? Why didn't they get off their spoiled buts and do the one job they were born to do, the one job they were trained to do? Talk with the gods and deliver it. A farmer farmed. If he didn't the pharaoh had every right to punish him, the scholars did their schoolboy things and kept records, if they didn't the Priests had every right to decreases their food, the slaves, who were born to build and to serve the wealthy Egyptians if they didn't that had the right to be whipped by the wealthy masters, the Pharaoh and the temples.

But when the Pharaoh and the Priests didn't do their main job, who was supposed to motivate them?

The clouds broke apart, and the rain stopped. Sunlight from Ra's golden face peered down at Kwanio and the desert rejoiced. Flowers bloomed and fruit began to rapidly bloom. The desert began to glow with colors and sounds of insects flying and stretching minute old wings; animals of the night peered out from under the rocks and saw the sun. The entire desert became an oasis for those tiny glorious moments.

And Kwanio knew his answer.

When the Pharaoh and the Priests weren't doing their jobs, the gods would send a messenger to commune with their non-listening children. So the gods sent him to deliver their message.

But that was weeks ago. That was a lifetime ago.

He had tried to give his message, tried to show the world that he was sent from the gods. He brought his message to the source, to Giza and the Pharaoh's newest homey spot. He called upon the earth, and the earth responded. With a fury and an angry determination his message was delivered through the huge crevice that opened up, hungry for royal Egyptian blood. But it wasn't the Pharaoh's blood that was given, for he still lived.

Shaking his head Kwanio beseeched the empty sky.

Why didn't it work? Why didn't his show of power produce the fear and the response the gods wanted?

Blue eyes stared into his memory.

A priest lived.

And that priest bore Kwanio away from his task, used Bevin to woo him away from his purpose. If he wasn't dehydrated he would've spit. His mind whirled with the possibilities of betrayal. Priests and pharaohs worked together to use the god's privileges and hurt the common man. Priests and the Pharaoh lived after Kwanio's first attack. And a priest stopped him from completing his mission. Muttering under his breath, Kwanio reached his answer, saw where he began his slippery descent and saw where he went wrong.

Instead of finishing off the Pharaoh and delivering his message he was sent to an ungodly land, nearly killed. It has only been his own god's help that allowed him to come home, to restart.

Now he searched in a forgotten section of the desert, walking on blistered soles beseeching the heavens for water and for truth. He was still the messenger; he was still a figure of power, sent by the gods to do their task. His legs started pumping, his will driving him on, his ego demanding his emancipated body to move, to be heard and to be seen by the gods above.

He was Kwanio! Filling his lungs with the sweet air, he shouted out "I am ready!"

And the heavens listened, and the heavens watched.

But there was still no sign that they cared. No flash floods, no lush spring bubbling under his parched feet, no answer to his triumphant renewal of spirit.

So, the camel herder did what came naturally to him. He pulled his belt tighter and walked forward over the sandy dunes, ready to reclaim his purpose, to finish delivering the message.

Closing her eyes Shinrei started focusing her power. Visions and ideas from the older Pythia's came to her, but she quickly shut them up. She wasn't a man like Pythos, or just like his timid sprit daughter, Heisei the tranquil was alive and tired of people telling her what to do. If they old memories wanted to her to do something they could suggest it like any normal friend. And if they couldn't handle that then she will silence them for good.

With that line of thought she built herself a nice mental door and slammed it into the Pythias' faces. Calming herself from their influence, she strummed her samisen. Drawing in a deep breath she played the chords that represented her Celt; loyalty and strength were played, and soon after was understanding and compassion, all chords played harmoniously together created the song of Alister. Soon following came the mental symbol of Angus, his beloved hound.

With that focus point and the power inherited by the Greek priest, the Chinese girl and hereto companion ported to the far off distance where the Celt lay.

Sand dunes gave way to sandy plains. Outcrops of stringy grass and dehydrating tree's crept into the picture while his tired body pushed forward.

He was lost.

Kwanio was in a land unlike the one he almost died in. And yet, this foreign ground still bespoke of the power of his people. Legends carried from other travelers and grazers of the desert told of this place, where huge packs of hungry lions roamed, the mighty earthshaking pounds of the elephant trampling could be felt in this land.

He reluctantly left his land of sand dunes a while back, too thirsty to move on, too stubborn to lay down and die. But now, he had rather lay down upon the dunes of sand and let the wind scratch his flesh then a hungry drooling beast ripping him to bits.

But his parched lips and aching body compelled him to go forward.

Birds called out to him in tongues he didn't know, and animals with necks longer then normal walked past him. His head swarmed with the heat, and with the pain. They sky was clearing, with intense pinks and reds screaming down upon his unworthy hide. Voices swam in his mind, calls and laughs, causing his feet to fumble and turn him around. Roars and moans from hungry beasts added to his confusion. His head was swamped and heavier then usual, his lids were slipping and his legs were slowing. Swaying he reached out to his wife's outstretched arms, slowly he moved his glued mouth and called out his daughter's name. He heard her giggling from behind the clouds. His heart pounded deep in his chest and his stomach itched with the old mud coating he put on it. Ground became sky and the proud camel-less herder fell.

He saw feet come closer to him, and a voice reached his ears, "We have come for your life Herder, if you cannot pay with your own, we expect payment some other way."

And then Osiris took him.

Gone were the slopping hills and hidden valleys of quite China, instead, a freezing cold forest met the travelers. Lina stepped away from the others, quick to separate herself and the other "mutants". She was here to get Bevin and go. She was here to save the only thing good about this disillusioning trip and that was the only friend she ever knew.

Hugging her arms in a vain attempt to be warm, Nef also stepped away from the chin girl. She liked the child, and appreciated her soothing words. But the power the leapt from her hand was still too Greek to her, still too Pythos-ian. Her demons of her old self might be hidden away, but they were not gone for good.

As for Shinrei, she hardly noticed. The jump had been indeed long, and in a tiny portion of her mind she gave thanks to Apollo for the strength used in delivering them here. Quickly she eyed the place they dropped in, seeing the barren trees and the dampening snow everywhere.

Where was Alister?

Her power was still raw to be sure, but it has been true to her. Was she wrong now? Did she make some mistake so soon in her role of leader?

Pushing down these thoughts, she called out, "Search for the Celt, but don't go to far, we don't know if these woods are safe yet." Eyeing the foreboding sky she added, "Stay within calling distance, and look for some dry wood too."

Picking her footing carefully, Nef left the port site, and went over fallen tree to the southern edge. The Celt… the silly singer seemed big in the eyes of the Apollo chosen, for wasn't she the one that the old Pythos brought them to save in Atlantis?

Doubts crept into her mind while she traveled, was she that important to the Pythos too? Clutching her arms, she didn't have much balance when it came to walking through the snow banks. The linen pleated outfit for a priestess of Egypt was hardly helpful in frozen tundra such as the one she was in now.

Lina, wasn't braving the cold well either.

"You could just light an arrow… warm yourself up nicely."

Stomping her foot Lina angrily grunted "Go away Lorn"

Only if her life depended on it. That's what she promised herself. No power unless her life depended on it And so far a little cold wasn't life threatening. So what if her feet grew numb each time she placed it in another frosty bank, or if her breath formed as soon as she released it from her nose. Her heart was still beating, and her pride was still as hot as ever.

She wasn't about to form an arrow until her life was a blade's cut away from joining Hades horde.

Shinrei could feel both women's feelings and ignored it. Between Nef's own doubt, Lina's budding hatred, and the voices of dead Greek women, she was getting a headache. Shrugging these foreign parties to the back of her mind, she concentrated. She once again formed the mental instrument in her mind, adding detail to it so the spell would be perfect. Three strings, long bow, round end, and the mournful notes that bespoke of loyalty, commitment, and strength. However, her mental song ended to soon for her liking when Nef called out.

"Tracks, of a horse down this way!"

Perturbed by the enchantment half formed, Shinrei was about to scold the woman. But the surprise of that feeling held her tongue. One week or so into her role as Pythia and already she was the leader? Dashing hopes and forcing her will onto others?

Suminto Shinrei would be appalled at how she changed.

Did Desdemona daughter of Asaecthius feel revulsion when she was first shown Plague's true colors? Blinking Shinrei forced her thoughts to worry over Nef's observation.

Feeling Nef's pleasure Hesie allowed her to go on this half brained idea, why would the Celt be on a horse anyway? "Follow it, but only so far. I do not wish to have to go after you as well."

Grinning slightly at this nod of importance Nef followed the prints. Slight green weeds began poking through the grass, longing for this muted sun as much as Nef longed for reassurance. Laughing at that thought, she moved on.

Maybe that's why she fit in so well as a priestess. She liked being important, enjoyed the commoners look of adoration given to her, the weakling priests who worshipped her feet after each performance. The feeling of being loved and needed was a strong one to the Egyptian woman.

Over dead wood, and by cold stone outcroppings she moved down the slope, following the deep horse tracks. As a priestess she partook in many embalming ceremonies for sacred animals; cats, alligators and occasional deer's. When the Pharaoh's brother passed on to the god's realm, he asked to be entombed with his favorite chariot and mounts. Being curios to the strange request, Nef participated and learned the anatomy of the powerful animals, from head to hoof.

Following the first recognizable thing in this wintry world calmed her nerves, besides; moving helped her body stay warm, and her mind fresh. Horses tracks led to a horse and the four legged animal led to people. And people of this altitude and climate must have fire.

And if the barbaric Celt lived in this land, all the better.

This was her first encounter with the fabled snow, and as far as Nef was concerned, it could be her last. Daintily she looked around her, snowbank scrunched up against stones, hiding its true depth, sloughing green trees with sharp spikes, and further on the top of the hill Shinrei sat against the stone giants. There were conifers around her, still holding onto their needles, with their heavy boughs laden with snow that emitted a fresh piney scent that she instantly loved. It smelled fresh.

Curiosity woken, Nef briefly indulged in discovery the new scent. In Egypt with water being carefully used, washing was strictly leisure for the rich. Yet, water or no water, women still stunk. To mask this pungent odor, women would create perfumes and waxes to coat their hair in, and thus eliminate the odor. Wax making was one of Nef's calming times, and ones she always treasured.

Besides, the horse's tracks go right through a deep corpse of slouching snow covered trees, and the only way to go past, was to go through. And she wasn't about to rub against frozen rain with a thin linen garment on.

Gathering a deep breath, Nef plunged her hand deep into the frozen snow bank, following the feel of a half-buried tree branch. Cold shot through her senses while her fingers barely managed to clutch the tree dropping. Because of the shock of the icy snow, she could barely toss the stick far enough, and barely hard enough to hit the trees. None the less, anybody who was at home in winter's frozen keeps could tell you that a tiny shift in weight could cause an avalanche. And Nef's tiny heave hit the tree and instantly the condensed snow fell to the waiting ground, exposing the bark and pine needles.

Nef carefully walked over the cold ground and frigid needles, and stuck her face close to the inviting scent of the tree.

Lina, caught one glance of this sight and had to look back again. Her anger at herself, her powers and her circumstances slowly melted before that image of lunacy. Small giggles escaped her lips and before she knew it, she was moving closer to the Egyptian woman.

She moved down the snowy outcrop, her feet carefully finding purchase on the covered ground. But the mask of the snow hid from her a certain slick rock. Her foot confidently stepped down on the treacherous spot and her whole body was flung into gyrations, balancing delicately on her other foot, while her forward momentum begged her to keep going. Lina threw her arms in the air. But her body was too far forward to save. Slipping and sliding, Evanglina fell down the last parts of the frozen hill. Her downward spiral crashing through fragile stalks of vegetation and over jagged stones covered in fluffy snow.

Turning, Nef laughed. Shaking her head in dismay she walked over to her friend's battered and tattered form.

"Nef, don't move"

Frowning, she said "Don't be embarrassed, this thing could have happen to anybody." She extended her hand to the prone form.

"Stupid! Behind you"

Kwanio opened his eyes, carefully. Each lid felt like tons of sand pushing down against his cheeks. He felt that the very same sand had decided to crawl into his dry mouth and suffocate his lungs. Moaning he began to let his body tell him what was wrong. Burns and aches echoed all over his body. He just felt the like his new name should be bruise. One large, hungry and discolored Bruise.

Grunting, he tried to move his arm. Tried to but failed.

It wasn't because he couldn't move any part of his body do to exhaustion or even because he was a giant Bruise. He could still wiggle his toes, and he could rotate his wrist- painfully- but move it none the less.

His arms however, were tied neatly behind him, his legs were also bound, and much to his surprise was his mouth. Bound and gagged like an animal.

"Good, you're awake."

Stiffly, Kwanio moved his head, trying to locate the voice and something of a softer patch of ground.

A dark hand reached out and Kwanio dizzily focused on the scar running from one finger down to the wrist. The hand of his captor untied the gag around Kwanio's mouth.

"There, now tell me spy, what information did you come to collect?"

Kwanio blinked, and slowly tried to piece what was going on. His head on the other hand kept reeling in circles, and his body screamed in agony.

The hand reached down again, and forced the camel herder's bruised body into a more approachable position. Kwanio couldn't fight him if he tried, so he just let himself be manhandled

The only thing he could do was notice his surroundings and his captor. Unsurprisingly, he was still on the ground that he fainted on. Sandy plains with stubborn green shoots demanding moisture from the ground. The sun however, was setting, throwing long shadows over the lightly vegetated land.

The surprising part was the captor himself. A child, really. Perhaps a winter or two older then Ataj, Kwanio's oldest. What a child such as he was doing here, and tying strange men up Kwanio couldn't understand.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Running a parched tongue over his bleeding lips, he replied "Water."

The kid grunted and removed his hand from Kwanio's shoulders. His features were plain, darker then Kwanio was used to dealing with, but a lot more familiar then any of his previous travel-mates. The boy was frowning a bit, causing deep lines to etch further into his face. Looking at him from an upright position Kwanio saw that his first age assumption was off. The boy might be in his teens already. A man, or soon to be man judging by the scruff on the boy's chin.

"Okay Spy, water first then you talk." Kwanio stared at the skin of water. If Kwanio wanted o know how far he traveled he didn't have to look any further then the animal hide the water was being served in. The sewed skin was that of a striped creature, black and white. No such animal lived in the deserts of Kwanio's clans. Only the Pharaoh or those barbarian tribes of the south ever saw the striped wonder.

Raising an eyebrow, Kwanio continued to stare at the skin of water.

Noticing his captive's hesitance to grab the skin, the young man kicked up dirt. "Well take it you maggot. I warn you I will have your story. If not, then I can say I will cause you more pain then the desert."

Kwanio felt his own temper rise. If his son ever used this tone with him, or with another adult he would get a whipping. Looking at the punk in the eye, Kwanio had to settle with giving him a good talking to. "First," He rasped , " I can't take it." Pausing for breath and strength, he turned his head, nodding at his bound hands.

The boy's eyes widened, seeing his own folly. Seeing the boy with his mouth open reminded him instantly of Ataj. The youngest who could hardly believe anything his father told him. Kwanio smiled and began lecturing to the kid.

"Second, never, ever let your captive tell you what to do. If you are going to be forceful, do so. Never show a weakness."

Sneering, the boy squeezed the water from the pouch, drenching his captive in water. Quickly Kwanio opened his mouth, allowing the precious droplets to slosh into his mouth, refreshing his parched tongue and empty stomach. Licking his face, Kwanio continued his diatribe. "And Never Waste WATER."

Grunting, Kwanio pushed his aching body forward. Kwanio might be bound like a young camel, rocking on his knees, but he had at least a hundred pounds on the boy and surprise. All he did was provide the initial boost and gravity did the rest.

The surprised kid was immediately knocked down with Kwanio's elbow and full weight pushed into his gut.

Kwanio looked again into the boy's furious eyes. A man he might be one day, but for today the boy was still just a little kid playing adult. Grunting, Kwanio rolled off his captor and laid on side, the boy knew who was in charge now. Breathing heavily, Kwanio just gazed into the sky, an inky darkness that took over after the last of the sun sank towards the ground. Ra was gone now.

This was always Kwanio's time.

When night and day changed, when the burdens of being male could slip for a few precious minutes. Silently he said a prayer to his lost loved ones.

His body still ached, his hands still chaffed, and his head was throbbing like a running camel. His vision of the heavens and of his child captor was bouncing so much that he couldn't focus. Fearing a new wash of brain sickness the old herder cried out.

At the yearly gathering of herders at Osisris's Return Festival he saw a man shake with the brain sickness. Spittle would be flung from his lax lips and mumbling aches of a child would come spilling out. Kwanio could only look on with pity when the old man's daughter had to take her father away, and keep him in the women's tents.

He tried to sit up but whatever was afflicting him was afflicting his sense of balance, each time he tried to move, to rise, his strength would abandon him. His arms were cut by the cords that bound them. Sweat drenched his entire body as he felt another rippling course through him. Thoughts paraded through his head, whispering of his own defeat and failure, of his weakness, of his folly.

"No!" He forced out from behind clenched teeth. Closing his eyes least his body's action betray him any more.

"I will not take orders from a DOG!" the voice yelled over Kwanio's shakes. Looking away from his own frail and bruised body, Kwanio glanced at the boy child. Standing up right with his legs apart he made a show of might. He threw back his head and extended his arms. Kwanio could just make out dusty waves rippling forth from the boy's outstretched fingers before the ground started to throb underneath him.

The land itself was buckling like a sandy wave, dunes rose and appeared on the once flat ground, huge cracks jigsawed their way this way and that while the ground continued to shake. Seeing the land, his land, his god and his mistress dance to another man's thoughts were quite frightening. But the sheer aspect that Kwanio was not crazy, was not afflicted with the womanizing aspect of being a mere child in a man's body, of feeling the ridicule of being helpless… this was a great relief.

He stopped his struggles and rode the wave. Felt the cool touch of the earth and remembered what it was like to live in its womb from the strange land to home.

He looked up back at the boy, the kid was straining his arms, couldn't control the power he wielded. Kwanio even saw drool dangling from the boy's mouth.

And the herder only could laugh.

Laugh as the boy sought to destroy him, laughed at the his own fear of being weakened, laughed at the land embracing him, laughed good and hearty at his own predicament, and laughed for all things wrong and right in his life.

All the memories, all the pain, all the joy and sadness was being shaken out of his body as the waves and the cracks continued their jolting ride.

Feeling his bruises in his stomach more clearly from the laughing, he stopped.

The boy too had stopped, feeling his own power seep from his skin while his victim continued to act crazy.

Kwanio looked at the boy with knowing eyes and smiled, and then lifted his head to the stars. A huge column of earth burst from the shaken ground lifting Kwanio to the heavens he loved. Looking down he saw the boy as a god would on some lofty perch. -a small insect that coward in fear.

The smile faded, as did the column of mighty earth.

He was a messenger, not a god.

"Untie me."

And the boy did.

The cold probably hit her first.

And then the smell.

Whatever the case, Bevin was awake once more.

She kept her eyes closed and concentrated on her breathing, allowing her self to become calm even though her mind whirled with thoughts. The gods were laughing down at her from above, from above this pit of death. The gods sent her down here as a punishment, as a … a reason for her.

Smacking the ground with her palms she sat up.

Wasn't she punished enough?

Her hearing was gone, her home was gone, her family, her hair. She had no friends in this tomb where other the other dead lay. What else could she give?

Sitting up she looked around her at the corpses of the fallen, or the weak. Burnt faces in silent screams looked back. Half-rotten and half-burnt flesh made a particular smell. It wasn't as if they cared though. Their skim lay limp from their bones, and their blood was…

Blood.

The gods of her people were named the bloodless ones after all.

They sought blood for everything.

Rolling her eyes she yelled.

Not a girly scream, not a petulant brat sound either. This one was pure frustration and anger, reinforced by her vexing emotions and powerful abilities.

Brynhild heard the scream as she lumbered closer to the pit. Felt her fur raise in cue, felt her own anger answer the feral scream. Her bear form rose on hind legs and roared her own fury. The dead stayed dead here, they would not raise against her, against her people or her gods. This day was not Ragonrok, the dead wouldn't storm Valhalla nor kill her chief lord Odin.

The dead stayed dead!

With a massive heave she sent her muscular structure into a full pace run.

Bevin didn't hear the bear's growl. Didn't hear the lumbering animal scramble her way. Didn't see the size of the razor sharp claws or the huge jaw that was coming to maul her to pieces. Instead her only outward sense was looking for a blade.

The gods demanded blood. And the last sight she had was of a god coming for her. Fine. Then they would find her prepared.

Finding a blade amongst the bodies was silly, but practical. Her people at least buried their kind with everything they had loved while living –so to carry it with them in the otherworld. It just didn't seem wrong to think that the men here would not have blades with them.

So she looked. Turning over one squelching rotten body and stepping over another. She moved one body of what looked to be a guard of some kind and saw what could be described as an ornate spear. Bevin pried the weary guard's fingers away from the shaft and said a prayer. The man clung to his weapon as if it was a life preserver. Hopefully even though his tomb was being robbed, he'll hold the sharp spear again in the otherworld.

Finished she raised the shaft upwards, catching the last of the sun's rays in its pointy tip. It was a shinny black blade with a red dyed shaft of wood intricately carved with foreign symbols, a tied knot of red string hung from the top in what appears to once have been tassels for decoration.

The light diminished then, every trace of the rays hitting the blade was gone. Bevin looked down at the ground around her, still light with some feeblest rays. She turned behind her and saw the same thing, save for one shaft of darkness of an angry shadow directly covering her figure.

Raising her eyes, all she could do was assume a spear stance position before the dark shadow convulsed upon her.


	15. Gods Walking

Author's Note: This is for Omni for dragging me out of retirement I suppose. Blows dust off the key board and story hope you like : - P

nnn

Events happen fast.

Sometimes even those with the oldest eyes and the wisest minds can tell you that they missed something important, that they couldn't see what was happening until the aftermath, they couldn't imagine the up and coming problem would ever effect them. For at that moment when the world turned and flipped, when north became south and black became white- those guardians blinked.

Who's to say what happened to Atlantis was our fault. Who's to say that what happened to countless lives wasn't just some freak volcanic eruption, and not some meta-human mutant gone nuts who happened to have the ability to meld with the earth? That that entire civilization was too darn arrogant and the real gods destroyed it for their hubris.

That place, those lives and that culture aren't saying.

That's why I am writing this. To prepare all those who come after. To warn you, that even if you are smart and intelligent, you must take heed. To make sure that that amount of senseless loss won't ever happen again.

So hear me, you who read this text - Don't blink.

nnn

Her warning fell on deaf ears.

Thunderous hooves crashed through the pine bows of the clearing, crashing down upon the two women in the snowy embankment. Nef was knocked aside by the surprise of the great beasts charge. The rocks to her side and the flailing hooves of the animal trapped Lin, still on her rump after her fall. Undaunted by the abrupt incline or the body near it, the red brown stallion began to charge.

Face down in the freezing snow, Nef arose to fight. Forming the serpents in her mind, her acid tongue gave them form. Twin serpents leaped from the iced priestess's hands, clamoring for horseflesh.

The sighed of the poisonous serpents caused the animal to tremble in frenzy. The stallion's red brown limbs started jumping and thrashing the ground in an eagerness to move away from the serpents' teeth and to squish them underneath. Wild limbs struck out, crashing into Lina that sent her sprawling.

Shrieking from the pain, the Greek alerted Shinrei to her plight. Leaving her sell behind her, the Chinese girl quickly moved to help. But the angry horse was not going to stop. The horse's bucking back was threatening the girls with its wild hooves and sharp teeth, all spinning around in a terrible frenzy. Shinrei couldn't get a lock on the wild creature's mind fast enough to sooth it. And Lina was out cold from the horses flailing hooves, and dear Nef caused the beast to go crazy in the first place. Gathering her breath, Shinrei tried again to calm the beast down, before her trampled both of her new teammates.

nnn

The black shadow leaped from its high position on the tomb's walls, squishing a rotting body when it landed. Screaming a battle cry Bevin lunged with her spear extended. Nimbly the female figure dodged the fatal blow, moving too fast over the uneven terrain. Flipping the bladed end for the wooded, Bevin executed her next move, keeping as much distance between her and the figure. With the darkening of night, Bevin had to rely on her kills with a weapon to protect her from the figure, and from slipping on the moldy bodies underneath.

Fighting in silence was something Bevin had to get used to. Before, her brother and she would scream taunts at the others, sparring verbally as well as physically with the others. They would practice in all sorts of conditions too. In the rain, in the barn's with the horses, on rocky hills, in the morning during winter or at night on a spring day.

Then she would rely on her ears to tell her when to move the tip of her blade to her side, or when to dodge the incoming of her brother's charge from behind.

But deaf? And almost blind from the darkening sky… Against one whom the bloodless ones sent… Bevin giggled at the odds.

Her attacked pulled out a long straight knife and began to swing it at her. The slashing steel forced Bevin to stumble backwards. Bringing her spear in a long arch over her head, she crashed through her assailants charge, blocking the steal. But she was much to close for her liking to do any damage with the spear, and the tomb's walls was touching her back. Cornered, she paused her lips together and whistled.

A high pierce rang out, so sharp and so close; the female assailant grabbed her ears in agony. Bevin launched herself off of the tomb's wall and flunged into the female, shoving her to the ground. Neatly, she brought her spear's head to the woman's chest.

nnn

Biting her lip, Shinrei stared right at the horse, forcing the mental chords of her projected samisen to work on the beast. The stallion's rampaging flinging body was still fighting her effects. Still trampling the stone and snow underneath its angry hooves, still thrashing its limbs with little regard to the two females dangerously close to them.

Nef, who wisely dismissed her snakes when the horse started going nuts, was now shielding the Greek's girl's form next to her own. Lina was out of it for the moment.

Her fingers convulsing over the mental strings, Shinrei drew more powers from the depths of her mind. She never had to stop an animal before and didn't' know if she was adding enough power to her spell. Didn't even know if it worked on beasts and men, and if she could stop it in time.

nnn

Surprised by the piecing sound, Byrnhild clamped her hands to her ears and shut her eyes. So desperate was her body to rid the noise from her system. The sounds felt as if t was going to split her head apart, she already felt as if her world crashing around her. A hum echoed around in her head far longer then the sound lasted; it was bouncing and messing up her equilibrium.

She focused her breathing to keep her calm, the noise and the hum was abating while she just breathed. Opening her eyes, she saw the new predicament she was in with the black obsidian spear pointed at her throat and the burial ground at her back. The undead's eyes glowed with… victory? Happiness? Over her defeated body.

Still confused from the lasting hum of the whistle, she slowly removed her hands from her ears, lowering them to the ground besides her back. Instantly, the spearhead jerked closer to her breast, threatening to spill blood if she moved again.

Trapped, Brynhild closed her eyes.

A shimmering glow began to cover her form. Her human body might be trapped, but her raven form was smaller and could maneuver away before the stunned undead knew what was happening.

Following the glow, her bones began to feel lighter and her arms bloom with feather. Hair and skin became luminous black feather that caught the darkness in perfect shadow. Talons replaced fingernails and her eyes became keener in the growing darkness.

Screeching a cry of victory, Brynhild the rave flapped away from the spearholder.

"Morgan!" the undead shouted while stumbling away from the newly transformed woman. Her eyes grew wide with disbelief at the new body the Viking now occupied.

Unconcerned with the shout, the raven squawked again. Flapping her dark wings she came in closer with her talons and sharp beak at the ready.

The undead paused and looked weary, be it because of her transformation or because of the new shape Brynhild didn't know. All she knew was that the girl has soft flesh ready for the ripping and her pointy spear really was too bulking for such a small target. Screeching a victory cry, the raven dove in for the kill.

nnn

She released her spell, full power at the creature, stopping the big horse flat in its rampage. The creature's limbs fell and the great muscle mass seemed to convulge upon itself as the body's forward momentum crashed to the ground. A sickening crunch was heard through the small clearing.

nnn

Screaming in agony the raven began to transform mid-flight back into the female. Talons became fingers and sharpened beak became a regular human nose. The abruot second transformation from winged advenger of the night to heavy ground dwelling human caused Brynhild's own body to crash to the ground with a loud thump on a very confused Celt.

"Son…"

nnn

"Son of Cronus and Yanluo Wang!" cursing under her breath, Shinrei jumped down the mountain to her teammates sides. The stallion looked alive, but compared to the angry monstrosity it was before, the stillness made it appear dead.

Its mind however was calm and childish, as if it were waiting for something to happen next. The brief contact she had with the creature made the new Pythia believe that the creature was harmless, just a bit exuberant.

"How is she?" She asked.

Looking up, Nef just raised her eyebrow in disdain. "After being half trampled by a horse, I'd say she is doing fine." The Greek girl lay in Nef's lap, exposing her forehead to the Chinese's gaze. A dark bruise was already forming.

"Pack some snow on it, it'll help with the swelling."

"That's it?"

Taken aback, Shinrei replied "What?"

Gently Nef put snow on the girl's face as instructed. If she was doing so to keep her eyes averted from Shinrei's gaze or to show some guilt for her comment, Shinrei didn't know.

"I mean, you are supposed to be the Pythia now. Can't you do something else then boss out orders and throw us in some unknown world?"

Thousands of responses came her to her lips, but too many were lies. Remembering Desdemona's downward spiral towards Plague's uncaring attitude, Shinrei held her tongue. Instead, she sat next to the horse, absentmindedly stroking its withers while the verbal attack continued.

"Don't get me wrong, I thank you for helping me see whatever it is that I see now. And I thank you for telling me the truth of this little… venture.. of ours." Nef contunied, her emotional control weakening a bit. Swallowing she added, " But if you are what you say you are, the Pythia of Apollo, the reincarnated powerful meta-human handpicked by all past Pythia's with all their knowledge and skill and all the power of Pythos, then can't you tell me something more then 'pack some snow?"

Clearing her throat and licking her lips, Shinrei composed an answer to this valid question. "I never asked the … others."

"And why---" Shinrei raised her hand, blocking Nef's questions.

"let me finish." Seeing the old priestess's bewildered look, Shinrei lowered her arm. "Look, Pythos went mad with the power that was laid at his fingers tips. He wasn't 'handpicked' in a way that you mean. He was just a vessel to be used until one could be found. And I? I don't want to go insane thinking that I was the one they were looking for, that I was meant to be the next appropriate vessel to hold Apollo's wisdom. I'm still new at this."

Closing her eyes she added "And since I am being honest with you, I'll tell you this. I've never lead anyone before. This is my first time taking into account others feelings and capabilities. So yes, my answer to you is just to pack some snow on it."

Silence descended onto the clearing. Both women lost to their own thoughts and reactions to this news. Shinrei spent her time looking over her life, recalling her mother, her homeland, her part with Nur. The Pythia's did change her. Now she has to make sure that it was in a good way and not a way that just makes her into a walking corpse like Pythos.

Nef recalled her own life.

Her eyes grew unfocused, "I always wanted power. Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be important and favored." Looking over at Shinrei, Nef noted how young the girl really was. Perhaps even younger then the free spirited Lina. Respectively she continued her thoughts, "I think you are very wise for you years. I would probably take everything the Pythia's offered me, without worrying about a price for such talents. I will continue to follow you."

"Shinrei smiled at the news. "Just promise me that if I do go insane…"

"I'll be the first one to kick your ass, don't worry."

nnn

"Morrigan" the Celt whispered to herself. Quickly, Bevin pushed the unconscious woman off her and backpedaled, placing bodies and her spear in between the two of them. Amazingly, the wooden shaft wasn't broken in the mad crush the Morrigan did after falling from the sky. And after assuring herself on her weapon's condition, and that the red-haired woman was not moving, Bevin checked herself over.

She tested her arms and leg muscles by bending in place, stretched her back and moved her limbs cautiously. Nothing felt more bruised then before, but she was still sore all over.

The other female let out a groan.

Quick as a cat, Bevin stopped her self-calculations and raised her spear towards the woman. Her eyes squinted in anticipation and her body readied herself for another fight. But the Morrigan, the raven shape changer goddess of war and death, did not move anymore.

The Celt moved cautiously forward. One of the bloodless ones was here. Was in front of her and down. Wounded? Or faking? Was this another test?

Would the world be better if she killed this goddess? That is, if she could be killed.

Or was she supposed to show mercy? And reverence to her beloved bloodless ones. Just before she was ready to kill whomever the male god was, even took a weapon from the dead- Something unforgivable to her people back home.

This wasn't home. The land was different so why was the Morrigan here if not to challenge Bevin's skill?

This wasn't home.

Bevin's spear drifted to her feet,

Her family was at home. They were not waiting for her however, she was still an outcast from her people, still driven away from the holdings she shared with her older brothers and her mother's clan.

All because she killed her cousin.

Bevin looked upon her soul and saw other blood touching her. She finally really saw the dead at her feet, saw the Atlantian dress and the Atlantian features and the Atlantian finery.

She tried to stop them from dying, tried using her gifts for good. But they died as well. Not in battle, not as warriors are supposed to, not from Morrigan's hand, as all Celtic warriors hoped for. As her cousin prayed for.

She dropped to her knee and rested the weapon on the rotting ground.

As if the red-haired figure was waiting for that exact humble gesture, it started to glow. Once more did the woman's body change and mold back. Her hands melted away into feathers, her bones glimmered until they were almost translucence and her nose grew with otherworldly power into a talonus beak.

Bevin cried out, in awe of her goddess's power, in her goddess's ability to hear her cry for the justice on herself.

But the bird circled once with its midnight wings- still glowing by the rapidness of the transformation- and flew over and away from the pit.

Bevin cried once more, in shock of being spared. Quickly she rushed to her feet and tried to follow the incandescent bird in the darkening void of night.

Nnn

A.N. And that is it for now. I should have something again for you, Omni, and whoever has braved re-reading this ancient piece, in and past 2 weeks. Bugging is always allowed before that. : P

Cheers!


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